DUKE 
UNIVERSITY 

LIBRARY^ 

Treasure  "Room 


Charles  R.    Sanders,   Jr< 


v-M 


LETTERS 


A   FATHER    TO    HIS    SON, 

ON   VARIOUS    TOPIC? 


R 1 1  A  T I V »      TO 


LITERATURE  AND  THE  CONDUCT  OF  LIFE, 


WRITTZN    IN    TH£    TEARS    I79O    AND    17a: 


By  J.    A  I  K  I  N,    M.  D. 


PHILADELPHIA  j 

PRINTED    BY    SAMUEL    HARRISON 
CHERRY- STREET, 
M.DCC.XCIV. 


CONTENT    So 


Letter  I.  INTRODUCTORY,  p.  13.— Edu- 
cation, its  purpofes— -  Benefits  of  a  copious  and 
varied  one — Oppofite  plan  of  our  fchools  and 
univerfities,  whence  derived — Advantage  of 
an  unmackled  fyftem  of  life — Purpofe  of  the 
fubfequent  feries  of  letters. 

Letter  II.  On  Strength  of  Character,  p.  19. — 
Natural  and  moral  procefs  of  acquiring  it— 
Caufes  of  weaknefs,  falfe  fhame — fear  of  of- 
fending—fear of  giving  pain — defire  of  pleaf- 
ing  all  mankind — The  writer's  own  experi- 
ence. 

Letter  III.     On  Attachment  to  the  Ancients, 
p.    27. — Prevalence     of     this     attachment — 
Mode  of  determining   the    comparative  merit 
of  ancients  and  moderns — Man    an   improve- 
able  being — Poetry — the  defcriptive  kinds — 


iv  CONTENTS. 

the  higher  fpecies — Reafons  which  have  re- 
tarded its  improvement — Veneration  for  the 
ancients,  partly  owing  to  their  language  be* 
ing  that  of  the  Chriftian  religion. 

Letter  IV.  The  fame  SubjeEl  continued^ 
p#  oy. — Philofophy  of  the  human  mind — 
Dead  and  living  languages  compared — Man- 
ners and  inftitutions— The  ftage — Caufes  of 
prejudices  in  favour  of  antiquity — Education 
and  its  aflbciations — The  merit  of  an  author 
confounded  with  that  of  his  work — the  merit 
of  a  work,  with  its  cafual  value — Effects  of  a 
dead  and  foreign  language— Purpofe  of  thefe 
remarks. 

Letter  V.  On  the  Furju.it  of  Improve?ne?iti 
p.  48. — Declamations  againit  improvement, 
whence  proceeding — their  inconfiftency — ■ 
Perfection  mod  attainable  in  civil  inftitutions 
— Examination  of  the  aflertion  that  princi- 
ples fpeculatively  right,  are  practically  wrong 
— -Philofophy,  what,  and  its  merits — Sneer- 
ing manner  of  oppofing  it — Serious  argu- 
ments againft  it  confidered. 


Lettee  VI.  On  the  Love  of  Applaufc,  exe?n- 
plified  in  the  younger  F Hiny ,  p.  57. — Pliny's 
epiftles  not  familiar — their  purpofe  and  cha- 
racter— Moral  effects  of  love  of  praife — Pliny 
a  man  of  virtue — His  literary  vanity. 


CONTENTS.  V 

Better  VII.  On  the  Story  of  Circe,  p.  62.' — 1 
Allegorical  interpretations  of  Homer's  fables 
. — Of  that  of  Circe — The  fable  confidered — • 
Objections  to  its  moral  purpofe. 

Letter  VIII.  On  Nature  and  Art,  and  the 
Love  of  Novelty,  p.  69. — The  Englifh  fchool  of 
arts  characterized — Novelty  the  great  requi-, 
fite  to  amufement — Its  fources,  nature  an4 
art — Neceffity  of  introducing  art — The  true 
object  of  thofe  called  imitative — Exemplified 
in  the  drama — Dramatic  performances  of  dif- 
ferent nations — Recitation  of  Englifh  verfe. 

Letter  IX.  The  former  Subjecl  continued, 
p.  79.— Poetical  language  of  tragedy — Nature 
and  purpofe  of  Paftorai  poetry— Romances 
and  novels-^-Doarine  of  Novelty  fummed  up. 

Letter  X.  On  Prejudices,  Bigotry,  Candour, 
and  Liberality,  p.   89.— Prejudice   defined— 

Reafonable    and   unreaionable    prejudices ■ 

Bigotry,  its  chara&er— Candour,  confounded 
with  charity— -Falfe  candour  in  judgment- 
Candour  of  temper— Liberality,  diftinguiflietf 
from  indifference — Illiberal  tenets,  The 
words  exemplified. 

Letter  XI.  On  Religious  Societies,  p.  101.W 
Qn  the  character  of  feels— Religious  focie: 

9 


CONTENT 


ties  diftinguiihed  frcm  fects — their  genuine 
purpofes— -Schiim — Condition  and  duty  of  a 
minitter. 


Letter  XII.  On  Reply  in  Contrcvcrfy,  p.  1 10. 
— Story  of  Meianchthon — Cafe  when  reply  is 
unneceffary, — Caufes  which  render  it  proper 
— the  production  of  new  argument,  and  mif- 
reprelentation  in  matter  of  fact — The  duty 
of  individuals  to  refute  charges  againft  them. 

Better  XIII.  On  Clarification  in  Natural 
-Hi/lory,  p.  117. — Natural  progrefs  of  clari- 
fying objects — from  differences,  and  from  re- 
femblanccs — Ufes  and  purpofes  of  arrange- 
ment— Natural  method — Artificial  method — 
The  Linnean  fyftem. 

Letter  XIV.  On  Buffons  Natural  Hiftory, 
p.  127. — ButTon  characterifed — His  principle 
of  diminishing  the  number  of  fpecies,  by  fup- 
pofing  artificial  varieties — how  far  probable — 
Effects  of  domcftication — its  various  ftages — ■ 
Moral  qualities  of  animals. 


Letter  XV.  On  Ornamental  Gardening, 
P*  *37' — The  character  of  E;nglifh  garden- 
ing— EfTential  idea  of  a   garden — An  appen- 


CONTENTS.  VII 

dage  to  a  houfe,  and  therefore  regular — The 
conftituent  parts  of  aa  artificial  garden  con- 
sidered— How  far  the  appearance  of  art  dif- 
gufts — Deceptions  of  modern  gardening — - 
The  two  ftyles  compared  as  to  novelty  ahcl 
variety. 


Letter  XVI.  On  Pope's  Fjfay  vf  Criticifin, 
p.  151. — A  proper  object  of  criticifm  from  its 
fubject — A  truly  juvenile  performance — Its 
method — Remarks  on  particular  padages,  re- 
lative to,  The  critical  profeffion — memory, 
undemanding,  and  imagination — following 
nature — imitating  the  ancients — beauties  not 
reducible  to  rule— claffical  writers— the  cha- 
racter of  wit— verification— identity  of  mufic 
and  poetry— cenfure  of  admiration— of  im- 
piety. 

Letter  XVII.  Vri  the  Analogy  between  Men- 
tal and  Bodily  Diftafe,  p.  170. — General  re- 
femblance  of  difeafes  of  body  and  mind  in  the 
means  of  cure— Operation  of  contraries,  and 
coercive  meafures— Practical  application  of  the 
doctrine  of  neceffity— Cafe  of  one  brought  up 
in  vice,  in  the  lowed:  clafs— in  the  higher- 
Vices  of  certain  dates  of  ibciety— Great 
remedial     proceiTes— Neceflity  of    calamitous 

events. 

a  2 


vjii  COHTENTi, 

Letter  XVIII.  On  Spleen  and  Low  Spirit^ 
p.  1 80. —Frequency  of  this  malady— Green's 
poem  on  the  Spleen— Neceflity  of  tempe- 
rance in  preventing  low  fpirits— Benefit  of 
employment— proper  kinds  of  it— Misfor- 
tune of  high  rank  in  this  refpect. 


Letter  XIX.  On  Confolation,  p.  189. —To. 
whom  the  office  profeffional— The  real  caufe 
of  forrow  on  the  death  of  friends— A  felfifh 
emotion,  meafured  by  the  lofs— Subftitution 
the  only  remedy— Particular  confolation  to 
widowers— widows— parents. 


Letter  XX.  On  the  Inequality  of  Conditions, 
p.  200.— View  of  a  great  city~-H©w  far  in- 
equality is  neceffary— Human  fociety  found- 
ed on  the  effential  qualities  of  man— Its  ne- 
ceffary confequences.-Purpofe  of  good  go-« 
vernment,  to  check  natural  inequality— Abo- 
lition of  domeftic  flavery  in  Europe— The 
lower  claffes  not  fo  wretched  as  they  feem— 
Real  evils  attending  them,  divided  into  n£- 
fcefiary  and  cafual— The  latter  the  proper  ob- 
jects of  remedy— The  probable  mode. 


Letter  XXI.  On  the  Prevalence  of  Truth\ 
p.  212. — Limitations  of  the  maxim  that 
tilth  will  prevail— Falfe  opinions   founded  on 


CONTENTS-  IS 

hopes  and  fears  infeparable  from  man— Su- 
perftition  Hill  prevalent,  and  perhaps,  gaining 
ground— Mode  of  arguing  by  which  it  is 
fupported — The  fame  applied  to  religious 
fyftems— Certain  kinds  of  religious  opinions 
likely  to  continue  popular— Preparations  ne- 
celTary  for  the  reception  of  truth— How  far 
truth  is  likely  to  prevail— Its  benefits. 


Letter  XXII.  On  Second  Thoughts -and  Mid- 
dle CourJeSf  p.  22 j. —In  what  fenfe  fecond 
thoughts  are  beft— Firft  impreflions  moll  to 
be  depended  on  in  queftions  of  moral  con- 
duel—  So phiftry  of  the  Jefuits— Firft  deci- 
fions  of  reafon  alfo  frequently  the  founded 
—On  what  thefe  differences  depend— When 
the  middle  way  is  not  the  fafeft— Millhiefs  ot 
compromife. 


Letter  XXIII.  On  the  principal  faults  of 
Poetical  Tranflatzon,  p.  236.— -Purpofe  of 
tranllation,  to  pleafe,  and  to  inform— Accom- 
modations neceiTary  in  tranflating—Dangcr- 
ous  latitude  of  addition  allowed  by  Dr.  John- 
fon— Pope's  Ody{Tey--Tlie  different  ideas  of 
royalty  in  different  ages,  a  principal  fource 
of  faulty  trartflation— exemplified  in  the 
tranfiation  of  the  OdylTey— Excels  of  orna- 
ment—Exaggeration and  hyperbole — Effect 
of  rhyme— Criterion  of  tranllation, 


X  CONTENTS. 

Letter  XXIV.  On  Ruins,  p.  251.— The 
pleafure  derived  from  them,  a  modern  idea- 
Ruins  confidered  as  objects  of  fight— their 
value  as  relics  of  beautiful  architecture— their 
pi&urefque  effects— Confidered  as  fentimen- 
tal  objecls— what  afibciations  favourable  to 
this  purpofe— Confidered  as  hiflorical  records. 


Letter  XXV.  Remarks  on  an  Argument  in 
favour  of  the  reality  of  Speclral  Appearances t 
p.  262.— Nature  of  Dr.  Johnfon's  credulity — 
Paffage  from  Raflelas — In  what  cafes  univer- 
fality  of  belief,  no  argument — Conceptions 
necefTarily  formed  of  departed  fpirits — Caufes 
of  delufion— Variations  of  fpeclol  appear- 
ances— Vifion  and  reality  confounded — Va- 
rieties of  form  and  circumftance. 


Letter  XXVI.  On  Cheap  Pleafures,  p.  273* 
Love  of  pleafure  allowable— Advantages  from 
a  rclifh  for  the  moil;  procurable — The  fources 
of  thefe  enumerated — Books — convention — 
the  ftudy  of  nature— a  taite  for  the  external 
beauties  of  nature — the  ornamental  arts. 


Letter  XXVII.     On   Attachment  to  Country, 
p.  288.— Patriotifm    an  early  paffion— -its  ten 
dency  to  excefs— Attachment  to  country  as  it 
iufluences    opinions— erroneous    eftimates   ot 


CONTENTS.  XJ 

our  country's  merits,  proceeding  from  pride 
and  vanity— errors  of  diflike — Conduct  how 
influenced  by  attachment  to  country,  and  to 
individuals — migration  of  friends. 


Letter  XXVIII.  On  Independence,  p.  300.- — 
Limits  of  iudepcndence-WVdvantagcs  of  it—. 
Whifton  and  Steel — Horace — Mode  of  ac- 
quiring independence — Not  owing  to  abfolute 
fitualion  in  life — Its  true  fources,  moderate 
dcfires,  and  active  induftry — Ancient  philofo- 
phers,  and  Chriftian  afcetics,  compared —  In- 
dependence does  not  require  the  rejection  of 
favours—How  far  it  is  ufeful  to  contract  our 
wilhes. 


Letter  XXIX.  On  the  Choice  of  a  Wifef 
p.  312. — Peculiar  propriety  of  parental  advice 
in  this  matter— Ground  of  difference  of  opi-» 
nion  between  fathers  and  fons— The  main 
qualities  requifite  in  a  wife,  thofe  of  a  com- 
panion and  a  helper—Good  fenfe  and  good 
temper,  the  effentials— Defects  of  each  with- 
out the  other— Additional  qualifications  of  a 
helper— Houfe-wifery— Vigour  of  body  and 
mind— calls  for  both  in  a  female-— Perfection 
of  female  character  the  fame  with  that  of 
male— Mifchief  of  hafty  engagements— For- 
tune and  family  connexions. 


Xil  CONTENT  S- 

Letter  XXX.  Valedi&oiy,  p.  325. — Chie£ 
purpofe  of  the  preceding  letters—Final  admo- 
nitions. 


LETTERS 

4 


A  FATHER  TO   HIS  SON, 


LETTER     L 

INTRODU    CTORY. 

to  A.  A. 

You  have  now,  my  dear  fon,  nearly  fi- 
nifhed  an  education  which  has  been  con- 
dueled  upon  a  plan  befb  adapted,  accord- 
ing to  my  judgment,  to  the  prefent 
ftate  of  things,  and  to  the  fituation  you 
are  deftined  to  occupy.  It  has  been  a 
varied  and  extenfive  plan,  comprifing 
many  changes  of  difcipline,  and  em- 
bracing a  large  field  of  inftruction.  It 
has,  I  hope,  prepared  you  both  for  active 
and  contemplative  life  ;  for  the  ftudy  of 
books,  and  of  men  and  nature.  It  has, 
I  fay,  prepared  you ;  for  the  education  of 
B 


14  LETTER       I. 

the  youth  can  only  be  preparatory  to  the 
puriuits  of  the  man  ;  and  he  who  is  beft 
enabled,  from  a  comprehensive  view  of 
the  objects  before  him,  to  pofiefs  himfelf  of 
thofe  which  are  mod  worthy  of  his  choice, 
is  belt  educated. 

For  this  reafon,  I  am  not  afraid  of  the 
cenfure  ufually  pafled  upon  a  copious 
fcheme  of  early  inftrudlion, — that  it  is  cal- 
culated rather  to  make  fmatterers  in  every 
thing,  than  proficients  in  any  thing.  Let 
but  a  folid  foundation  be  laid  of  thofe  ele- 
mental parts  of  learning  which  employ  the 
memory  when  that  is  the  only  faculty  in 
full  vigour,  and  it  is  immaterial  how 
flight  is  the  fuperftrudlure  fir  ft  erected. 
1  would  wifh  it  rather  to  refemble  the  scaf- 
folding of  a  great  building,  than  the  fi- 
nilhed  model  of  a  fmall  one.  Befides 
that  alrrioft  all  the  branches  of  knowledge 
have  a  mutual  connexion  and  dependence  ; 
it  is  the  only  way  of  preventing  narrow 
prejudices  in  favour  of  any  one,  at  the 
fame  time  to  afford  a  profpect  of  fe vera], 
and  alternately  to  exercife  the  mind  upon 
each.  As  reafon ing  confifts  in  the  com- 
-parifdn  of  ideas,  the  understanding  cannot 
be  fumifiied  with  too  large  a  flore  to  work 


INTRODUCTORY-  1 5 

upon.  Nor  need  it  be  apprehended  that 
confuiion  will  arife  from  the  early  mixture 
of  a  variety  of  objects  in  the  mind ;  or 
that  the  time  ufually  allotted  for  education 
will  prove  infufRcient  for  acquiring  the 
principles  of  general  knowledge.  The 
phy ileal  character  of  the  mental  and  bo- 
dily frame  in  youth,  is  an  aptitude  for 
various  exertion,  but  an  impatience  of 
confinement  to  a  (ingle  one.  The  mind 
and  body  can  fcarcely  at  that  period  be  too 
much  employed,  provided  employment  be 
judicioufly  varied ;  and  numerous  exam- 
ples have  proved,  that  prodigious  acquisi- 
tions may  be  made  in  very  early  life,  by 
thofe  who  have  proper  obje&s  prefented  to 
them.  I  know  that  fome  have  chofen  to 
reprefent  thefe  acquifitions  as  fugitive, 
and  as  calculated  rather  to  make  extraor- 
dinary children,  than  diftinguifhed  men. 
This  is  undoubtedly  the  cafe  when  the 
iludies  of  youth  are  laid  aiide  in  more  ad- 
vanced years ;  but  when  they  are  unremit- 
tingly followed  up,  I  fee  no  reafon  to 
doubt  that  the  lead  gained  at  the  outfet,  will 
be  preferved  during  the  courfe. 
B2 


26 


iL'  E   T  T  t 


You  are  apprifed,  as  well  as  myfelf, 
that  the  "eitabiimed  fyflem  of  fchool  and 
imiverfity  education  in  this  country,  is  as 
oppofite  as  poffible  to  thefe  ideas;  but 
we  know  that  this  has  happened,  not  in 
confequence  of  a  preference  founded  upon 
fair  comparifon,   but  either  of  habits  and 

ys  of  thinking  transmitted  from  gene- 
ration to  generation,  or  of  a  necefiity  de- 
rived from  the  plans  of  future  life.  Where 
honours  and  emoluments  are  only  to  be 
obtained  by  particular  acquirements,  thefe 
receive  a  relative  importance,  which  muir 
continue  as  long  as  the  fame  circumftances 
exiit.  If  Greek  and  Latin  be  the  only 
pafTports  from  the  fchool  to  the  univerfity ; 
and  Greek  and  Latin  ftill,  with  antiquated 
logic,  and  abftracl  mathematics,  be  the 
means  of  induction  to  degrees  and  fellow- 
{hips,  and  thence  of  admiflion  to  lucra- 
tive offices  in  church  and  ftate,  they  will, 
without  queftion,  be  the  leading  objecl.s 
of  attention  to  thofe  who  are  educated  for 
the  purpofe  of  obtaining  thefe  offices . 
But  their  value  in  this  cafe  is  properly 
effional,  and  ought  no  more  to  form  a 
of  eflimation  for  perfons  with  differ- 


INTRODUCTORY.  I  J 

eni  views,  than  the  value  of  legal  and  me- 
dical   knowledge   to    lawyers    and    phyfi- 

cians. 

It    is    a    great    advantage    attending   an 

unihackled  plan  of  life,  that  thefe  artificial 
eftimates  of  things  may  in  good  mea- 
fure  be  avoided.  There  is  nothing  in 
your  deftination  which  obliges  you  to 
pu-rfue  any  other  courfe  of  ftudy,  than 
that  belt  fitted  to  enlarge  your  mind,  and 
(lore  it  with  the  moft  effentially  valuable 
products  of  human  knowledge.  The  fci- 
ences  which  will  be  properly  profeflion- 
al  to  you,  thofe  of  ethics  and  theology, 
liand  at  the  head  of  fuch  as  dignify  a  ra- 
tional being.  Critical  and  polite  litera- 
ture is  not  only  valuable  for  the  afhftance 
it  affords  in;the  purfuit  of  thofe  frudies, 
but  for  the  pure  and  elevated  pleafures 
it  is  capable  of  yielding  as  an  ultimate 
object.  The  ftudy  of  nature  under  her 
various  forms,  which  cannot  but  be  pecu- 
liarly interefting  to  one  who  afpires  to  an 
acquaintance  with  the  Author  of  nature, 
has  in  it  likewife  every  quality  which  can 
render  a  purfuit  delightful.  To  all  thefe 
the  exertions  of  your  mind  will  naturally 


l3  LETTER!^ 

be  turned.  Their  fources  will  be  alike 
open  to  you.  You  have  books,  leifure, 
and  friends ;  but  you  have  no  friend  who 
has  your  improvement  more  at  heart 
than  myfelf.  And  as  the  longer  tract  I 
have  paffed  over  in  the  journey  of  life 
has,  of  courfe  given  me  a  more  exten- 
five  acquaintance  with  fome  of  its  ob- 
jects than  you  can  yet  have  acquired,  I 
truft  you  will  not  think  your  time  mif- 
applied  in  perufing  the  reflections  on 
various  topics,  inftruclive  or  amufmg, 
which  I  mean  to  communicate  to  you  in 
a  feries  of  letters.  Whether  my  fenti- 
ments  do  or  do  not  meet  with  your  con- 
currence, you  will,  by  examining  them, 
be  led  to  that  freedom  of  difcuflion,  with- 
out the  habit  of  which  no  difference  ex- 
ifts  between  opinions  and  prejudices, 

I  am, 

Your  truly  affectionate  father, 

J.   A. 


(     19     ) 


LETTER    II. 


ON     STRENGTH    OF     CHARACTER, 


DEAR  SON, 

If  I  can  fpeak  experimentally  to  any 
moral  benefit  in  growing  older,  it  is,  that 
increafmg  years  augment  the  ftrength  and 
firmnels  of  the  character.  This  is  a  part 
of  the  natural  progrefs  of  the  human  fyf- 
tem,  and  is  probably  as  much  owing  to 
phyfical  as  to  moral  caufes.  The  dimi- 
nution of  mobility  and  irritability  in  the 
animal  frame,  muft  fortify  it  againft  ex- 
ternal impreflions,  and  give  it  a  greater 
(lability  in  its  action  and  re-action.  So 
far,  however,  as  this  is  a  corporeal  pro- 
cefs,  it  cannot  be  anticipated ;  and  the 
young  muft  be  exhorted  to  wait  patiently 
for  this  advantage,  till  it  comes  to  them 
in  due  courfe  of  time,  to  compenfate  for 
the  many  privations  they  mufr  undergo. 


20  LETTER       II. 

But  if  an  enquiry  into  the  purely  moral 
caufes  of  the  oppofite  defects  can  fugged 
moral  means  of  obviating  them  in  fome 
meafure  at  any  period,  it  will  certainly  be 
worth  the  pains ;  for  a  due  degree  of  firm- 
nefs  and  conddency  is  abfolutely  eflential 
in  forming  a  refpectable  character.  Let  us, 
then,  enter  upon  fuch  an  invedigation. 

On  retracing  my  own  feelings,  I  find 
that  the  firft  and  principal  caufe  of  juve- 
nile weaknefs  is  falfe  JJoame.  The  fhame 
of  being  fingular, — the  fhame  of  lying 
under  redraints  from  which  others  are 
free, — the  fhame  of  appearing  ungenteel, 
— -are  all  acutely  felt  by  young  perfons  in 
general,  and  require  drong  principle  or 
much  native  drmnefs  of  temper  to  fur- 
mount.  Mod  of  the  defections  from  par- 
ties and  feds  in  which  perfons  have  been 
educated,  originate  from  this  fenfation, 
which  is  perhaps  more  feduclive  to  the 
young,  than  even  intered  to  the  old.  It 
firft  makes  them  hedtate  to  avow  them- 
felves,  and  dedrous  of  palling  undiftin- 
guifhed  in  mixed  companies ;  it  next  leads 
them  to  petty  deceptions  and  compliances  ; 
and  finifhes  with  making  entire  converts 
of  them,   frequently   with    an   affe&ation 


Strength  of  character,  21 

'of  extraordinary  contempt  of  thofe  whom 
they  have  forfaken,  in  order  to  prevent  all 
fufpicion  of  their  having  been  of  the  num- 
ber. The  belt  guard  againft  this  conduct 
is  a  ftrong  imprefiion  of  its  meannefs.  If 
young  men  were  brought  to  difcern  that 
cowardice  and  fervility  were  the  chief 
agents  in  this  progrefs,  their  native  gene- 
roiity  of  fpirit  would  powerfully  oppole 
fuch  a  degradation  of  character.  StiM 
more  might  be  gained  by  accuftoming 
them  to  fet  a  value  upon  the  circumftance 
of  Handing  apart  from  the  mafs  of  man- 
kind, and  to  efteem  as  honourable  everv 
diftin&ion  produced  by  the  exercife  of 
freedom  in  thinking  and  acting,  I  am 
aware  that  there  is  a  danger  to  be  avoided 
on  this  fide  too,  and  that  the  pride  of 
fingularity  is  equally  ridiculous  and  dif- 
guftful  in  a  young  man.  But  this,  I  be- 
lieve, is  not  the  leading  error  of  the 
times ;  which  is  rather  a  propenfity  to 
iubmit  implicitly  to  the  decifions  of  fa- 
fhion,  and  to  value  onefelf  more  upon 
following,  than  oppofmg,  the  manners  and 
opinions  of  the  majority. 

The  fear  of  offending  is  another  fnare  to 
young  minds,  which,  though   commonly 


22  LETTER-      II, 

originating  in  an  amiable  delicacy  of  cha- 
racter, niuil  in  fome  degree  be  overcome 
before  a  manly  fteadinefs  of  conducl  can 
be  fupported.  Many  inrlances  have  I 
known,  in  which  the  fpecies  of  adulation 
called  by  the  Latins  ajfentafio,  has  been 
cecal irned  by  a  mere  dread  of  giving  of- 
fence by  contradiction.  But  fuch  a  habit 
of  afTenting  to  every  thing  that  may  be 
advanced,  is  in  danger  of  fubverting  all 
our   principles;     and    we    may    come    to 

iclife  from  artifice  that  complaifance 
which  we  perceived  to  be  fo  agreeable, 
when  only  the  confequence  of  modefl  de- 
ference. This  is  an  evil  attending  the 
practice,  otherwife  fo  inftructive,  of  fre- 
quenting the  company  of  feniors  and  fu- 
periors ;  and  it  is  only  to  be  counteracted 
by  a  mixture  of  free  fociety  with  equals. 

Akin  to  this  is  the  fear  of  giving  pa'nu 
1 1  infpires  an  infuperable  repugnance  to 
delivery  of  difagreeable  truths,  or  the 
undertaking  of  unpleafant  offices ;  things 
which  in  the  commerce  of  life  are  often 
neceflavy  to  the  difcharge  of  our  duty. 
In  particular,   one  whofe  office  it  is  to  ap- 

.  medicine  to  the  mind,  mull,  as  well  as 
the  phyiician  of  the  body,  conquer  his  re- 


STRENGTH    OF    CHARACTER.  £3 

luclance  to  give  temporary  pain,  for  the 
fake  of  affording  lafting  benefit.  Excels 
of  politenefs  deviates  into  this  weakness. 
It  makes  no  diilinction  between  faying  an 
unpleafant  thing,  and  faying  a  rude  one. 
A  courfe  of  fentimental  reading  is  likewife 
apt  to  fofler  fuch  an  extreme  delicacy-  of 
feeling,  as  makes  the  painful  duties  of 
the  heart  infupportable.  The  mod  ef- 
fectual remedy  in  this  flate  of  morbid  fen- 
fibility,  is  an  unavoidable  neceffity  of 
mixing  in  the  bufmef;  of  the  world,  and 
encouraging  all  its  roughneffes.  To  per- 
fons  of  a  retired  condition,  the  bell:  fubfti- 
tute  is  ftrengthening  the  mind  with  the 
dictates  of  a  mafculine  and  high-toned 
philofophy. 

The  defire  of  pleafing  all  mankind,  which 
is  the  counterpart  of  the  two  former  prin- 
ciples, is  a  fertile  fource  of  weaknefs  and 
mutability  in  fome  of  the  bed  difpofitions, 
It  is  the  quality  commonly  termed  good- 
nature, and  perhaps  is  in  fome  meafure 
national  to  Englishmen.  Young  perfons 
are  not  only  fhemfelves  prone  to  fall  into 
excefs  of  eafy  good  nature,  but  it  is  the 
quality  that  moft  readily  captivates  them 
C2 


24  LETTER       IT. 

in  the  choice  of  an  early  friend.  It  is  i 
poflible  here  to  blame  the  difpofition,  al- 
though it  be  highly  important  to  guard 
againft  the  indulgence  of  it ;  for  it  leads  to 
the  very  fame  imbecility  of  conduct  that 
falfe  fhame  and  cowardice  do.  In  the 
courfe  of  our  duties  we  are  almoft  as  fre- 
quently called  upon  to  undergo  the  cenfure 
and  enmity  of  mankind,  as  to  cultivate 
their  friendfhip  and  good  opinion.  Ci- 
cero, in  enumerating  the  caufes  which  in- 
duce men  to  defert  their  duty,  very  pro- 
perly mentions  an  unwillinglefs  "  fufcipere 
inimicitias,"  to  take  up  enmities.  This 
is,  indeed,  one  of  the  fevereft  trials  of  our 
attachment  to  principle ;  but  it  is  what  we 
muff  be  ready  to  fuftain  when  occalion 
requires,  or  renounce  every  claim  to  a 
ftrong  and  elevated  character. 

When  young  in  life,  I  derived  much 
fatisfaclion  from  thinking  that  I  had  not 
an  enemy  in  the  world..  A  too  great  fa- 
cility in  giving  up  my  own  intereft,  when 
it  involved  a  point  of  contention,  and  a. 
habit  of  affenting  to,  or  at  lead  not  op- 
pofmg,  the  various  opinions  I  heard,  had, 
in  fact.,  preferved  me  from  direcl  hoitili->. 
ties  with  any   mortal,  and,   I  had  reafon 


STRENGTH    OF    CHARACTER.  25 

to  believe,  had  conciliated  for  me  the 
pajjive  regard  of  moil:  of  thofe  with  whom 
I  was  acquainted.  But  no  fooner  did  dif- 
ferent views  of  things,  and  a  greater  firm- 
nefs  of  temper,  incite  me  to  an  open  de- 
claration refpecling  points  which  I  thought 
highly  interelting  to  mankind,  than  I  was 
made  fenfible,  that  my  former  fource  of 
fatisfaclion  muft  be  exchanged  for  felf-ap- 
probation  and  the  efteem  of  a  few.  The 
event  gave  me  at  firft  fome  furprife  and 
more  concern  ;  for  I  can  truly  fay,  that  in 
my  own  breaft,  I  found  no  obftacle  to  the 
point  of  agreeing  to  differ.  It  was  even 
fome  time  before  I  could  conftrue  the 
eftranged  looks  of  thofe,  who  meant  to 
intimate  that  they  had  renounced  private 
friendfhip  with  me,  upon  mere  public 
grounds.  But  enough !  At  prefent,  I 
can  flncerely  aflure  you,  that  I  feel  more 
compunction  for  early  compliances,  than 
regret  for  the  confequences  of  later  afler- 
tions  of  principle.  And  it  is  my  decided 
advice  to  you,  who  are  beginning  „  the 
world,  not  to  be  intimidated  from  openly 
efpouling  the  caufe  you  think  a  right  one, 
by  the  apprehenfion  of  incurring  any  mans 
difpleafure..     I  fuppofe  this  to   be   done 


26  LETTER        II. 

:in  the  limits  of  candour,  modeftyj 
and  real  good  temper.  Thefe  being  ob- 
ferved,  "you  can  have  no  enemies  but  thofe 
who  are  not  worthy  to  be  your  friends, 

Adieu ! 


(     V     ) 


LETTER     ILL 


ATTACHMENT    TO    THfi    A^r.;: 


t>EAR    SOX, 

You  cannot  but  have  remarked,  that, 
even  at  this  period,  there  are  many  whole 
attachment  to  the  writers  of  antiquil 
little  inferior  to  that  of  the  critics  and 
commentators  who  immediately  fucceeded 
the  revival  of  literature.  Wrapt  up  in 
profound  admiration  of  them,  they  fpend 
their  whole  time  in  ftudying  their  works, 
in  which  they  find  every  fpecies  of  excel- 
lence in  its  mod  exquifite  degree ;  and 
they  look  down  upon  the  belt  perform- 
ances of  the  modern;-,,  as  only  hum 
imitations  of  the  great  models  which  the 
ancients  have  (el  before  them.  Every  de- 
viation from  their  principles,  they  conlider 
deviation  from 


2&  LETTER       III* 

prefer  a  fault  fanclioned  by  their  example, 
to  a  beauty  not  reducible  to  their  flandard. 
How  far  all  this  is  owing  to  a  juft  preference, 
or  a  narrow  prejudice ;  and  if  the  lat- 
ter, by  what  modes  of  thinking  it  is  prin- 
cipally foltered,  cannot  be  an  uninterefV 
ing  inquiry. 

Many  writers  have  employed  themfelves 
in  drawing  particular  comparifons  between 
fimilar  works  of  the  ancients  and  moderns, 
and  I  do  not  mean  to  add  to  the  number. 
It  will  rather  be  my  attempt  to  deduce 
from  general  reafoning  fome  principles  by 
which  their  comparative  merit  may  be 
determined  a  priori.  This  may  feem  a 
ftrange  mode  of  deciding  upon  objects 
which  are  capable  of  being  brought  to  an 
actual  parallel ;  but  when  it  is  confidered 
how  few  can  come  to  the  examination 
without  prepoffeflions  in  favour  of  indi- 
viduals, it  may  be  admitted  that  this  me- 
thod has  its  advantages.  In  fad,  by  the 
force  of  early  aflbciations,  the  beauties  of 
our  literary  favourites  ftrike  us  as  the 
charms  of  a  miftrefs  do  a  lover.  We  can 
hardly  judge  of  them  foberly — we  are  all 
enthuhafm,  or  all  coldnefs.  You  cannot 
but  have  heard,  at   the  recital  of  the  fame 


ATTACHMENT  TO  TH£  ANCIENTS;  2Q 

toiece,  toe  exclaiming,  How  divine' !  and 
others,  What  wretched  fluff! — yet  both 
parties  palling  for  men  of  taftc.  Let  us 
then  feek  a  firmer  foundation  for  our  judg- 
ment. 

All  philofophers  agree,  that  mari  is  pe- 
culiarly characterized   as  an   improveable 
being,  not  only  with  refpect   to  the  indi- 
vidual,  but  to    the    fpecies.       It   is  true, 
many  caufes  may  for  a  long  time  fufpend 
the  courfe  of  improvement,    or  even  occa- 
fion  a  retrograde  motion ;  nor  does  the  ca- 
pacity for  it  in  the  fpecies  extend  to  every 
attainment   of  the  individual.     Many  arts 
depend  fo  much  more  upon  exercife  than 
upon  rule,  that  the  excellence  of  a  parti- 
cular artift  cannot  be  tranfmitted  to  a  fuc- 
ceflbr;  hence  a  later  age  does  not  itand 
on  the  moulders  of  an  earlier  one   with 
r'efpect  to  them*     This  is  very  mucii  the 
cafe  with  the  arts  of  painting   and   fculp- 
ture.     In  thefe  after  the  difcovery  of  the 
technical  modes  of  working,  and  the  ex- 
igence of  models  iufficiently  excellent  to 
direct  the   tafte  of  the  learner,  every  ad- 
vance  towards   perfection    mult    proceed 
from  individual  talents  and  induftrw  With 

D 


30  LETTER       III. 

a  block  of  marble  and  a  chifel,  and  a  foul 
touched  with  the  fire  of  genius,  and  ha- 
bituated to  the  contemplation  of  fine 
forms  in  art  and  nature,  the  Grecian  fculp- 
tor  called  into  life  his  Apollo  or  Venus, 
and  left  to  future  artifts  only  to  admire  and 
imitate. 

Among  the  products  of  literature,  poe- 
try has  been  thought  peculiarly  to  refem- 
ble  the  arts  above  mentioned,  in  foon  ar- 
riving at  a  perfection,  to  which  after- im- 
provements of  the  human  fpecies  could 
make  no  addition.  Ingenious  differtations 
have  been  written  to  prove,  that  a  fimple 
ilate  of  man  and  nature,  as  they  exift  in 
the  firft  dawnings  of  civilization,  is  the 
condition  molt  propitious  to  poetical  at- 
tempts ;  and,  in  fact,  many  of  the  fa- 
vourite productions  of  the  mufe  in  various 
countries  date  from  fuch  periods.  This 
theory,  fuppcrted  as  it  is  by  various  plau- 
fible  arguments,  is,  however,  in  my  opi- 
nion, rather  elegant  than  folid.  When 
language  and  the  art  of  verification  had 
reached  to  a  certain  pitch  of  refinement, 
that  poetry  which  confifted  in  the  defcrip- 
tion  of  natural  obje&s,  and  of  the  fimple 
afTec*lio ns  of  the  heart,  might,  indeed,  at 


ATTACHMENT  TO  THE  ANCIENTS.  31 

once  attain  excellence ;  and  the  attempts 
of  a  more  polifhed  age  to  improve  upon 
it,  might  degenerate  into  tinfel   and  con- 
ceit.     Still,    however,    as  nature  herfelf 
does  not  alter,  and  as  the  limpleft  man- 
ners are  always  exifting  among  a  certain 
clafs   of  mankind,   a  writer  of  true  tafte 
may  at  any  time  excel  in  delineations  of 
this  kind,     Inftances  of  this  are  likely  to 
happen,  when,  after  long  periods   of  re- 
finement,   the  relilh  for  fimplicity  comes 
round  again.     This  feems  to  be  the  cafe 
among  us  at  prefent ;  and  he  mufc  be  a 
very  prejudiced  reader,   who  can  prefer 
the  literary  tafte   of  the  ages  of  Elizabeth 
and   the   Charles's,   to  that  of  the  prefent 
day,   in  refpect  to  juftnefs  and  truth.     If 
the    pictures    of    nature    exhibited    by    a 
Cowper  and  many  other  modern  poets  be 
compared  with  thofe  of  any  former  age  of 
Englifh  poetry,  I  will  venture  to  afTert, 
that  they  will  be  found  beyond  compan- 
ion the    moll   chafte  and  exacl.     It  may 
here  be  remarked,  that  a  fimple  age  is  ne- 
ver fenfible  of  the  merit  of  its  own  fimpli- 
city;  but,    on  the  contrary,   is  fond  of  lay- 
ing on  with   profufion  all  the   ornament 
it  pofTeiTes.     This  is  univerfally  true  of 
D2 


32  LETTER       m. 

lavages,  with  refpecl  to  the  decoration  of 
their  perfons,  and  all  the  little  apparatus 
of  their  cabins.  It  is  equally  true  of  the 
language  and  rude  compofitions  of  a  peo- 
ple Hill  barbarous,  or  only  riling  towards 
civilization.  Their  productions,  there- 
fore, are  lefs  uniformly  fimple  than  thole 
of  an  age  which  can  fully  conceive  the 
difference  between  different  ftyles,  and  pof- 
fefles  judgment  enough  to  exhibit  each  in 
its  purity. 

But  with  refpecl  to  the  higher  fpecies  of 
poetical  compofitions,  there  can  be  no  pof- 
lible  reafon  to  fuppofe  that  excellence  in 
them  will  be  the  growth  of  an  early  Itage 
of  civilization,  or  that  it  will  not  in  gene- 
ral keep  pace  with  other  choice  produces  of 
the  mind  in  their  progrefs  towards  perfec- 
tion.    Uniformity  of  delign  will  not  exifl. 

before  accuracy   of  conception, beauty 

of  arrangement,  before  a  juft  fenfe  of  or- 
der> — propriety  of  feleclion,  before  the 
principle  of  congruity, — itrength  and  de- 
licacy of  fentiment,  before  a  habit  of  ab-. 
flract  thinking,. — fplendour  of  diclion,  be- 
fore the  large  and  varied  ufe  of  language, 
Unlefs,  therefore,  it  were  in  the  power  of' 
native  genius  to  overcome  impolTibitftiea, 


ATTACHMENT  TO  THE  ANCIENTS.  33 

we  mould  never  expect  to  fee  a  capital 
work,  combining  all  the  excellencies  of 
plan,  imagery,  and  fentiment,  and  at  the 
fame  time  free  from  grofs  defects,  produced 
in  an  uncultivated  age,  or  by  an  illiterate 
author. 

But,  however  probable  the  progreftive 
improvement  of  poetry  may  appear  in 
theory,  it  will  be  faid,  that  its  actual  pro- 
grefs  has  not  correfponded  with  this  fup- 
pofition.  For  this,  however,  various  caufes 
may  be  amgnedt  and  efpecially  the  fol- 
lowing. Some  works  of  extraordinary- 
merit,  and  peculiarly  calculated  to  be- 
come popular,  appeared  at  an  early  pe- 
riod, and  obtained  fuch  a  high  degree  of 
admiration,  that  they  became  models  in 
their  refpective  kinds,  and  refixidted  all 
fubfequent  efforts  of  genius  to  mere  imi- 
tation. Thus,  from  the  time  of  Homer, 
epic  poetry  became  an  artificial  composi- 
tion, whofe  rules  were  in  reality  drawn 
from  the  practice  of  the  Grecian  bard, 
rather  than  from  the  principles  of  nature. 
Lyric  and  dramatic  poetry  were  in  like 
manner  fixed,  though  at  a  later  period,  by 
Grecian  models ;  fo  that  the  Roman  wri- 
ters of  fimilar  performances  could  not  be 


34  LETTER       III. 

fa  id  to  bring  any  thing  of  their  own  to 
their  works.  The  fame  fhackles  of  imi- 
tation have  hung  upon  the  poetry  of  mo- 
dern Europe;  whence  a  fair  comparifon 
of  the  powers  and  genius  of  different  pe- 
riods is  rendered  fcarcely  practicable.  The 
leading  fpecies  of  poetry,  like  the  or- 
ders of  architecture,  have  come  down  to 
us  fubject  to  certain  proportions,  and  re- 
quiring certain  ornamental  accompani- 
ments, which  perhaps  have  had  no  foun- 
dation whatever  but  the  cafual  practice  of 
the  earlieft  matters  ;  nay,  pofTibly  the  whole 
exigence  of  fome  of  the  fpecies  has  had 
the  fame  accidental  origin. 

Meantime,  the  veneration  for  the  an- 
cients has  been  raifed  to  the  higheft  pitch 
by  this  perpetual  reference  to  them  as  mo- 
dels; and  it  has  been  concluded,  that 
works  which  have  engaged  the  ftudy,  and 
called  forth  the  imitation  of  fo  many  fuc- 
ceeding  ages,  muft  poffefs  a  fupreme  de- 
gree of  excellence.  But  after  all,  their 
reputation  may  have  been  'much  more 
owing  to  accident  than  is  commonly  fup- 
pofed.  That  the  Grecian  poets,  conti- 
nually recording  the  deeds  of  their  coun- 
trymen,  and    offering  incenfe  to  the  na-* 


ATTACHMENT  TO  THE  ANCIENTS, 

tional  vanity,  fliould  have   been   held  in 
high  efteem  at  home,  was   natural.     That 
the  Romans,  receiving  #11  their  literature 
from   Greece  fliould  adopt   its  principles 
and  prejudices,   was  aifo  to  be  expected. 
But  that  they  fliould  tranfmit  them  to  fo 
large  a  portion  of  the  civilized  world,  and 
this,  not  only  during  the  period  of  their 
domination,    but  to  new  races  of  men,  fo 
many  centuries  after  the  downfal   of  their 
empire,   mult  be  reckoned  accident,  as  far 
as  any  thing  in  human  affairs  can  be  called 
accidental.      Had   not  the  Chriflian  reli- 
gion eftablifhed  a  kind  of  fecond  Roman 
empire,    even  more   capable   of   fwaying 
the  opinions  of  mankind  than  the  firft,  it 
is    highly    improbable   that   we  fliould   at 
this  day  have  been  commenting  upon  the 
elaflical  writers  of  Greece  and  Rome.     It 
is,   indeed  aitonifhing  to  reflect,  by  what 
a  ftrange  concatenation  of  caufe  and  effect, 
the  youth   of  Chriflian  Europe  fliould  be 
inflruded  in  the  fables  of  Greek  2nd  Latin 
mythology,    which  were  fallen  into   con- 
tempt  even    before   Rome   ceafed    to   be 
heathen.     It  certainly  has  not  been  on  ac- 
count  of  their    wifdom    and    beauty  that 
they  have  furvived  the  wreck  of  fo  many 


^t)  LETTER      Hie 

better  things.  They  have  been  embalmed 
in  the  languages  which  contained  them, 
and  which,  by  becoming  likewile  the  de- 
pofitaries  of  Chriftian  doctrine,  have  been 
rendered  facred  languages. 

But  it  is  time  to  give  you  a  little  refpite* 


(     37     ) 


LETTER     IV. 


TriE    FORMER    SUBJECT    CONTINUED. 


From  the  tenor  of  my  lad  letter,  yon 
nave,  doubtlefs,  perceived  the  intended 
application  of  my  argument  a  priorL 
And  without  hefitation  I  avow,  that  the 
fuppohtion  that  any  kind  of  intellectual 
product  will  not  partake  of  the  general 
improvement  of  the  mind,  under  hmilar 
circumftances,  appears  to  me  perfectly 
unphilofophical.  While,  then,  it  is  ac- 
knowledged that  modern  times,  in  extent 
and  accuracy  of  knowledge,  have  far  fur- 
pafTed  thofe  periods  which  ought  rather 
to  be  regarded  as  the  infancy  than  the  anti- 
quity of  the  world,  I  cannot  fee  why  the 
moralift,  the  metaphyncian,  the  hiflorian, 
the  critic,  the  orator,  and  the  poet,  too, 
mould  not  be  benefited  by  the  progrefs. 
Horace  has  faid,  "  that  the  fcurce  of  good 
E 


LETTER        IV. 

writing  is  good  fenfe  ;"  and  what  is  this, 
but  the  remit  of  reafon  operating  upon 
experience?  It  may,  indeed,  be  urged, 
that  there  are  certain  topics,  upon  which, 
r  men  in  a  ftate  of  civilization  have 
once  begun  to  think,  little  additional 
knowledge  can  be  gained  by  experimental 
or  fcientific  proceffes ;  and  the  philofophy 
of  the  human  mind  may  be  given  as  an 
inftance-  Every  man  bearing  about  him, 
and  viewing  round  him,  the  fubjeel  of  this 
kind  of  inveftigation,  no  length  of  time 
or  foreign  aid  feems  wanting  to  enable 
him  to  carry  it  as  far  as  his  faculties  will 
permit.  And  it  is  probably  true,  that 
icarcely  any  points  of  moral  and  meta- 
phyfical  fpeculation  efcaped  the  acute  re- 
search of  the  numerous  Grecian  fchools 
which  devoted  their  whole  attention  to 
itudies  of  this  kind;  nor  at  the  prefent 
day  do  many  of  thefe  points  feem  nearer 
being  fettled  than  they  were  two  thpufand 
years  ago.  Yet,  if  the  ancients  treated 
•them  with  as  much  fubtilty  and  ingenuity 
as  the  moderns,  the  latter  will,  I  believe, 
be  generally  allowed  to  have  excelled  in 
clearnefs  of  arrangement,  and  folidity  of 
argumentation ;   fo  that  where  certainty  is 


Attachment   fo   the   ancients.        30 

\ibt  now  attained,  there  is  great  reafoil 
to  fuppofe  it  unattainable.  And  I  can 
fcarcely  conceive,  that  many  perfons,  af- 
ter making  themfelves  makers  of  the  mo- 
dern theories  refpecting  the  mind,  will 
think  it  worth  while  to  retrace  the  laby- 
rinth oi  ancient  rhetdphyfic. 

The  limitation  I  made  of  the  iuperiority 
of  modern  writers  to  cafes  in  which  the 
circumftances  were  finiilar,  would  probably 
be  made  much  ufe  of  by  a  zealot  for  anti- 
quity,   who  would  attempt  to  (hew,    that 
the  language,  manners,  and  inftitutions  of 
the  ancients  gave  them,  in  a  variety  of  in- 
flances,  peculiar  advantages  over  the  mo- 
derns.    As  to  language,   however,   let  the 
intrirtfic  pre-eminence   of  the  Greek    and 
Latin  be  placed  ever  fo  high,   ftill,    with 
refpect  to  us,    they  are  dead  languages,    in 
which  We  could  not  read  a  fehtence  fo  as 
to  be   underftood,    or  write  a  ihort  com- 
pohtion  fo  as  not  to  be  ridiculed,  by  an  old 
Greek  and  Roman.     I  am  far  from  charg- 
ing   with    affectation  thofe   who    fall   into 
raptures   with   the   verlification   of  Virgil 
and    Horace,  or   the  numerous    profe   of 
Plato  and  Cicero.     I  am   perfuaded  that 
E2 


4°  L  £   T  T  E  R        IV. 

by  long -attention  they  have  brought  them- 
felves  to  a  perception  of  fomewhat  excel- 
lent, though  it  be  a  different  thing  from 
the  real  excellence.  But  can  it  be  doubted, 
that  the  fame  attention  paid  to  one's  own, 
or  another  living  language,  the  true  pro- 
nunciation and  all  the  delicacies  of  which 
may  with  certainty  be  known,  will  afford  at 
leaft  as  folid  and  rational  a  pleafure  ?  Lan- 
guage and  modes  of  thinking  have  a  clofe 
connexion  with  each  other;  and  where 
the  latter  become  more  accurate  and  me- 
thodical, the  former  muff  neceffarily  im- 
prove in  force  and  precifion.  New  ideas 
muff  likewife  require  new  words ;  as  know- 
ledge, therefore,  advances,  languages  muff 
become  richer,  and  that,  not  only  in  dired 
terms,  but  in  figurative  and  allufive  ex- 
preffions.  The  former  is  an  advantage  in 
accuracy,  the  latter  in  eloquence ;  and  it 
would  be  a  vain  attempt  to  transfufe  into 
clafiical  Greek  and  Latin  the  clofe  argu- 
mentation of  a  Hume,  and  the  excurfive 
rhetoric  of  a  Burke. 

With  regard  to  the  changes  which 
manners  and  institutions  have  undergone, 
though  this  may,  in  fome  few  inftances, 
have  rendered  modern  times  lefe  favour- 


ATTACHMENT    TO    THE    ANCIENTS.  4I 

able  than  the  ancient  to  modern  ftudies,  as 
particularly  thofe  to  which  great  emulation 
was  formerly  attached  by  means  of  public 
rewards  and  applaufes,  yet  this  caule  can- 
not have  operated  to  any  coniiderable  ex- 
tent upon  literature  ill  general.  There 
can  never  want  motives  to  excel  in  what 
is  truly  valuable ;  and  though  the  fpecies 
of  encouragement  may  vary,  the  effect 
will  be  fimilar.  If  oratory  among  the 
ancients  had  more  fcope  at  the  bar,  with 
us  it  has  more  in  the  fenate  ;  and  that  of 
the  pulpit  is  an  entirely  new  creation.  If 
the  plaudits  of  afTembled  Greece  were  ani- 
mating in  a  high  degree  to  dramatic  at- 
tempts, thofe  of  a  modern  theatre,  en- 
forced by  the  folid  benefits  of  a  third  night, 
are  fcarcely  lefs  fo : — though  I  do  not  mean 
to  inftance  the  theatre  as  one  of  the  beft 
fchools  of  tafte  ;  but  neither  was  it  in  the 
age  of  Auguftus.  Horace,  you  know, 
complains  that,  even  among  the  knights, 
pleafure  had  migrated  from  the  ears  to  the 
eyes ;  and  the  Roman  ftage  might  at  leaft 
vie  with  thofe  of  the  Haymarket  and  Co- 
vent  Garden,  in  procefhons  and  triumphs. 
Nay,  I  cannot  but  fufpecl,  that  in  the  moft 
brilliant   times   of  Greece,  the  chorulTes 


4-  LITTER        IV. 

rind  the  whole  Jeii  de  thcjfrewtre  more  :\d- 
drerTed  to  the  love  of  extraordinary  fpec- 
tacles  in  a  wondering  populace,  than  to  the 
iudsrnent  of  fober  critics. 

But  I  mall  not  further  purfue  compan- 
ions between  particular  kinds  of  literary 
productions,  at  different  periods.  My 
purpofe  was  rather  to  fjggefi:  general 
principles  of  judging,  which  might  ferve 
as  a  counterpoife  to  the  prepofYeiTicns  ufu- 
ally  entertained  on  thefe  fubjects.  In  con- 
formity with  this  defign,  I  {hall  conclude 
Tny  letter  with  fome  remarks  on  the  caufes 
which  have  faltered  an  unreafonable  at- 
tachment to  the  writers  of  antiquity. 

Education  has  been  the  primary  fource 
of  thefe  prejudices.  For  many  centuries, 
all  the  literary  characters  in  Europe  have 
been  fed  and  nurtured  with  the  daffies, 
and  have  employed  the  bed  years  of  their 
lives  in  attempting  to  underfland  and  imi- 
tate them.  Aflbciations  thus  cemented, 
are  fcarcely  ever  to  be  diublved.  Every 
fentiment  of  the  foul  is  interefted  in  pre- 
them,  and  the  paffions  rife  up  to 
defend  the  decrees  of  the  judgment.   Even 

which  ought  to  re- 
is  from  t".  e:T"  day's  experience* 


ATTACHMENT    T3    7117.    ANCIENTS.  43 

have  for  ages  been  chained  to  the  fchools 
pf  thefe  early  mailers.  In  my  own  pro- 
feflion,  how  many  writers  cf  real  talents 
do  I  find,  who  heiitate  to  admit  a  cotem-r 
porary  truth  when  oppofite  to  the  authority 
of  Hippocrates  and  Galen.  A:  prefent, 
.indeed,  this  fervitude  is  prettv  well  over  in 
our  country  ;  but  learned  foreigners  ililj 
take  a  great  deal  ol  unneceuary  and  fruit- 
lefs  pains  to  reconcile  the  maxims  of  mo-r 
tlern  experience  with  the  premature  die- 
fates  of  the  fathers  of  phyfic.  Pride  < 
curs  with  prejudice  in  maintaining  the 
value  of  what  we  have  diftinguifhed  our- 
felves  in  acquiring  ;  and  the  credit  of  thofe 
acquiiitions  by  which  literary  honours  arc 
obtained,  muft  be  fupported  for  the  lake 
pf  the  honours  themfelves. 

This   general    impreilion   in   favour  of 
ancient  literature,   is  fubjecl  to  particular 
caufes   of  fallacious  judgment.       One    of 
thefe  is,    the    common  practice    of  con- 
founding the  merit  of  the  writer  with  thai: 
of  his  work;    as  if  fuperior  abilities  fhouid 
always    produce     fuperior    performances. 
But  though  the  inventor  Hands   higher  in 
the  feale  of  genius  than  the  improver,   y^t 
the    workmanfhip    of    the   latter   will    in 


44  LETTER       IV. 

many  refpecls  be  more  perfect  than  that- 
of  the  former.  This  is  fufficiently  obvious- 
in  pieces  of  mechanifm,  and  other  works 
of  mere  utility;  where  it  would  be" 
thought  a  ftrange  prejudice  to  prefer  the' 
original  draught  of  the  moft  ingenious  ar- 
tift,  to  the  improved  copy  of  his  journey- 
man. And  why  mould  not  the  fame  ob- 
servation apply  to  the  mechanical  parts,  at 
leaft,  fuch  as  the  plan  and  difpofition  of  a 
literary  defign?  Although  the  article  of 
claflical  faith,  that  "  Homer  was  the 
greateft  poet  who  ever  exifted,"  be  ad^ 
mitted  in  its  full  extent,  the  general  fupe- 
riority  of  the  Iliad  to  the  ^Eneid  or  Para- 
dife  Loft,  will  not  follow  as  a  legitimate 
confequence. 

Another  deception  is,  confounding  the 
merit  of  a  performance  with  its  cafual 
value.  Every  thing  which  conveys  in- 
formation of  the  manners  and  fentiments 
of  a  remote  age,  is  a  fit  fubjed  for  liberal 
curiofity;  and  thofe  remains  of  antiquity 
which  abound  in  fuch  information  deferve 
the  attentive  ftudy  of  the  plilofopher  as 
well  as  the  philologer.  But  this  value,  in 
many  caies,  arifes  more  from  the  faults 
than  the  excellencies  of  a  writer,  whole 


ATTACHMENT    TO    THE    ANCiEXTS.  45 

minute,  details  of  common  occurrences,  or 
references  to   idle   and  extravagant  fables, 
may  deform  his  work  as  a  production  of 
genius,  while  they  afford  high  gratification 
to  the    curious   antiquary.      Had  Homer 
compofed    another    Iliad     inllead    of    an 
Odyfley,   he  would  probably   have    exhi- 
bited much  more  fublimity  01  conception, 
and  grandeur  of  defcription,  of  both  which 
the    Odyfley    contains   very   faint  traces  i 
but  we  mould  have  loft  a  copious  ffore   of 
information  concerning  the   arts  and  do- 
meftic  manners  of  that  early  period,  which 
no  other  work  could  fupplv.    The  circum- 
fiance  of  language  comes  under  this  head 
of  extrinfic  value.     To  trace  the  progrefs 
of  men's  ideas,  by  means  of  the  expreffions 
in  which  they  clothed  them — to  view  terms 
derived   from    fenfible    objects   graduallv 
transferred  to  intellectual  notions,  and  fim- 
ple  energies  receiving  their  fuccefnve  mo- 
difications— is  highly  interefting  to  the  phi- 
lofophic  mind.    Hence  men  of  fpeculation 
have   always  been  defirous  of  knowing  a 
multiplicity  of  languages;   and  they  have 
read  with  eagernefs  very  inferior  compo-' 


46  LETTER       IV. 

virions,  if  tranfmitted  in  the  tongue  of  a 
jemote  age. 

Further;  a  foreign,  and  flill  more,  a 
dead  language,  never  gives  us  its  matter 
with  exactly  the  fame  impreflions  as  we 
mould  receive  from  it  in  our  own.  Many 
beauties  are  loft,  but,  in  return,  many  im- 
perfections are  concealed.  And,  in  parti- 
cular, the  air  of  tritenefs  and  vulgarity 
which  ever  attends  performances  of  infe- 
rior rank  in  our  native  language,  is 
thrown  off  by  allying  the  matter  with 
words  which  can  never  be  quite  familiar 
to  us.  Many  a  moral  fentiment  which, 
would  make  an  Ordinary  figure  in  Englifh, 
flrikes  us  with  the  force  of  a  deep  maxim 
in  Latin  or  Greek,  and  dwells  on  our  me- 
mory. This,  indeed,  is  a  real  advantage 
arifing  from  the  fludy  of  thofe  languages  ; 
but  it  is  not  to  be  placed  to  the  account  of 
peculiar  excellence  in  their  writers. 

To  what  purpofe  have  I  addrefled  to 
you  all  thefe  observations?  Moft  certainly 
not  to  perfuade  you  to  lay  afide  your 
favourite  claflics,  which,  befides  the  folid 
pleafure  and  inftruclion  they  are  capable 
of  affording  you,  are,  in  fome  meafure, 


ATTACHMENT    TO    THE    ANCIENTS.  47 

profeffional  objects  of  your  ftudies.  In- 
dulge a  liberal  admiration  of  their  excel- 
lencies. Imprint  their  beauties  upon 
your  imagination,  and  their  morals  upon 
your  heart.  But  do  not  be  feduced  to 
regard  as  models  of  perfection,  what  were 
only  the  experiments  of  early  art — do  not 
think  that  the  powers  of  men  have  de- 
clined, while  their  advantages  have  in- 
creafed — and,  above  all,  do  not  decide  by 
ancient  authority,  what  can  be  brought  to 
the  fair  tell  of  modern  reafon. 

Farewell  J 


¥2 


(     4*     } 


LETTER    V. 


SUIT  OF  IMPROVEMEX' 


You  have  frequently,  I  queftion  nou. 
been  difgufted  with  the  common  cant  em- 
ployed againft  all  projeds  for  improve- 
ment, u  that  perfection  is  a  thing  not  at- 
tainable here  below — that  every  thing  hu- 
man muft  partake  of  the  defects  of  human 
nature — that  it  is  a  folly  to  aim  at  impoffi- 
bilities" — and  the  like^  This  language, 
which  might  with  equal  truth  have  been 
held  at  every  flage  of  human  advance- 
ment, is  therefore  equally  trivial  in  all ; 
and  he  who  admits  that  it  would  have  been 
an  injury  to  mankind  if  ten  centuries  ago 
it  had  operated  to  difcourage  attempts  for 
improvement,  can.  give  no  fuflicient  reafon. 
why  it  would  not  be  fo  at  the  prefent  day. 

If  you  confider  the  perfons  from  whom 
this  lira  in  of  declamation  proceeds,    you 

I  infallibly  find  it  to  have  its  origin  in- 


PURSUIT  OF  IMPROVEMENT.  ^Q, 

ignorance,  weaknefs,  or  felfKhnefs.  Often 
m  ignorance,  the  declaimer  being  neither 
fufficiently  informed  of  the  prefent  Irate 
of  the  art  or  feience  to  which  he  refers, 
nor  difcerning  the  means  for  its  further  ad- 
vancement. Often  in  weaknefs — want  of 
energy  of  temper  and  force  of  underitand- 
ing  to  fupport  a  vigorous  exertion.  Of- 
tener  than  all  infelfijhnefs,  when  perfonal 
advantages  are  derived  from  prefent  de- 
feds,  which  would  be  endangered  by  any 
attempts  to  amend  them.  Every  gene- 
rous and  elevated  fpirit  will  inculcate 
maxims  direclly  the  reverfe; — that  perfec- 
tion is  the  point  conitantly  to  be  aimed 
at,  whether  attainable  or  not ;  and  that  no 
purfuit  beneficial  to  mankind  has  h  'therto 
been  brought  to  a  Hate  in  which  it  is  inca- 
pable of  further  progrefs.  This  is  admitted 
to  be  the  cafe  with  refpect  to  perfonal  ad- 
vances in  religion  and  virtue,  even  by  thofe 
who  are  the  lead  inclined  to  improvement 
in  general — for  it  is  alTerted  by  authority, 
which  they  dare  not  contradict.  It  is 
likewife  readily  acknowledged,  with  re- 
fpect to  moil  of  thole  arts  and  fciences*, 
the  free  progrefs  of  which  does  not  oppofe  - 
the  intevelts  of  individuals.     And  it  feems 


50  L  R  T  T  E  R       V. 

impoflible  to  affign  a  reafon  why  the  fame 
maxims  mould  not  apply  to  every  fubject 
in  which  the  human  faculties  are  engaged, 
provided  it  does  not  relate  to  things  ma- 
nifeftly  beyond  their  reach.  If  perfection 
be  any  where  attainable,  it  would  feem  to 
be  peculiarly  in  thofe  inftitutions  which 
are  the  creatures  of  man — in  which  he 
has  a  fpecific  end  and  purpofe  in  view,  in- 
volving no  wills  or  powers  but  his  own — 
which  are  purely  matters  of  convention 
between  man  and  man,  that  may  be  made 
whatever  he  choofes  to  make  them.  Such 
are  all  the  regulations  belonging  to  civil  fo- 
ciety.  In  thefe  concerns,  if  the  end  be  firft 
precifely  laid  down,  and  if  experience  be 
faithfully  confulted  as  to  the  fuccefs  of  dif- 
ferent means,  it  is  fcarcely  poflible  that 
continual  progrefs  mould  not  be  made,  as 
the  world  advances  in  reafon  and  know- 
ledge, towards  a  perfect  coincidence  of 
means  and  end. 

You  may  probably  have  met  with  the 
affertion,  that  "  in  the  fcience  of  politics, 
all  principles  that  are  fpeculatively  right, 
are  practically  wrong."  This  fentence  was 
the  fally  of  a  witty  writer,  who  is  much 
more  diftinguifhed  for  faying  lively  things 


PURSUIT  OF  IMPROVEMENT.  £l 

than  folid  ones.  Like  other  paradoxes* 
it  will  not  bear  examination.  It  carries  a 
palpable  contradiction  on  its  very  face  ;  for 
in  a  practical  fcience,  the  proof  of  the  rec- 
titude of  its  fpeculative  principles  is  only  to 
be  found  in  their  agreement  with  pra&ice. 
What  fhould  we  fay  of  a  fyitem  of  per- 
spective, the  rules  of  which  gave  every 
figure  falfe  and  diftorted ;  or  a  fyftem  of 
menfuration,  by  which  no  one  meafure 
turned  out  right?  The  reafon  afligned 
by  the  writer  for  the  oppofition  between 
principles  and  practice  in  the  inftance  he 
adduces,  is,  that  the  principles  are  founded 
upon  the  fuppofition  that  man  acts  rea- 
sonably— which  he  does  not.  This  re- 
mark is  evidently  an  ebullition  of  fplene- 
tic  fatire ;  but  were  it  juft,  the  legitimate 
concluiion  would  be,  that  the  principles 
were  erroneous ;  for  if  man  be  really  not  a 
reafonable  creature,  they  erred  in  repre- 
senting him  as  fuch.  To  whatever  clafs 
he  belongs,  it  will  not  be  denied  that  he  is 
actuated  by  motives ;  and  thefe  motives  it 
is  the  great  bufinefs  of  thofe  who  plan  fyf- 
tems  of  law  and  government  to  difcover. 
Such  fyftems  alone  can  be  Speculatively  as 
well  as  practically  right;   and  in  them  the 


^2  L  E  T  T  E  R       V. 

theory  can  no  more  be  at  variance  with 
the  practice,  than  caufe  with  effect.  The 
writer's  affertion,  therefore,  is  a  mere  fo- 
phifm,  which  I  mould  not  have  thought 
worthy  of  refutation,  had  I  not  obferved 
it  triumphantly  repeated,  as  the  mature 
conclufion  of  a  fage  in  worldly  affairs,  by 
perfons  who  concur  with  him  in  diflike  to 
appeals  to  firft  principles  in  this  and  fome 
other  matters.  The  truth  is,  they  believe 
man  to  be  pofleffed  of  more  reafon  than 
they  are  willing  to  allow,  and  it  is  his  rea- 
fon that  they  are  afraid  of. 

To  refolve  things  into  their  firft  princi- 
ples is  philofophy,  the  nobleft  employment 
of  the  mind,  and  that  which  alone  confers 
a  title  to  real  wifdom.  Without  a  portion 
of  it,  the  experience  of  a  long  life  may 
only  ferve  to  accumulate  a  confufed  mafs 
of  opinion,  partly  true,  partly  falfe,  and 
leading  to  no  one  certain  conclufion.  The 
want  of  a  phiiofophic  mind  makes  many 
men  of  bufmefs  mere  plodders,  and  many 
men  of  reading  and  even  of  obfervation, 
mere  retailers  of  vague  unconnected  no- 
tions. Order,  precihon,  concatenation, 
analylis,  are  ail  the  remits  of  philofophy. 
Yet  even  this  word,  as  you  muff  have  re- 


PURSUIT  OF  IMPROVEMENT.  53 

marked,  as  well  as  thofe  of  improvement 
and  reformation,  has  been  the  fubject  of 
obloquy.  It  has  been  branded  with  the 
epithet  of  impious  by  the  bigot,  of  arrogant 
by  the  cautious,  and  of  viiionary  by  the 
dull.  It  has  drawn  down  the  anathemas 
of  the  ferious,  and  the  ridicule  of  the  light. 
Above  all,  it  has  been  treated  with  that 
ironical  fneer,  which  is  fo  common  a  re- 
fource  to  thofe  who  are  confcious  of  beimr 
deficient  in  argument.  "  Thank  heaven! 
I  am  no  philofopher;  I  pretend  not  to  be 
wifer  than  thofe  who  have  gone  before 
me.  I  do  not  boaft  of  the  difcovery  of 
new  principles.  I  mult  beg  leave  to  re- 
tain my  antiquated  notions  notwithftand- 
ing  philofophers  call  them  prejudices'' — 
Thefe  flowers  of  polemical  rhetoric,  which 
decorate  fo  many  fermons,  ipeeches  and 
eflays,  though  they  have  loft  the  attraction 
of  novelty,  are  yet  of  no  fmall  efficacy  in 
fwaying  trivial  minds;  and  the  argumen- 
ium  ad  verecundiam  to  which  they  appeal > 
is  apt  to  overpower  unaffuming  modefty. 
Such  a  ftrain  of  frothy  infolence  is  be  ft 
difconcerted  by  admitting  it  ferioufly  as 
an  honeft  confeflion  of  inferiority.  I  would 
G 


54  L  E  T  T  £  E       V, 

fay — "  I  know  you  are  not  a  philosopher 
— I  never  took  you  for  one — your  educa- 
tion and  habits  of  life  have  difqualified  you 
from  all  pretentions  to  the  character — your 
opinions  are  mere  prejudices,  and  do  not 
merit  a  refutation." 

But  if  there  be  thofe  who  bona  fide  are 
afraid  of  philofophy,  becaufe  very  mif- 
chievous  doctrines  have  been  propagated 
under  its  name,  let  them  be  told,  that 
what  they  dread  is  only  the  ufe  of  reafon 
in  a  large  way,  and  upon  the  moil  impor- 
tant fubje&s* ;  and  that  if,  on  the  whole, 
we  are  better  for  the  gift  of  reafon,  though 
fome  abufe  it,  we  are  likewife  better  for 
afpiring  to  be  philofophers,  though  fome 
falfely  and  for  bad  purpofes  arrogate  the 
title.  A  very  common  topic  of  railing 
againft  philofophy,  is  the  extravagant  and 
contradictory  opinions  held  by  the  ancient 
fchools  of  philofophers.  But  with  whom 
cught  they  to  be  compared?  Not  with 
thofe  who  have  been  enlightened  by  diredl 
revelation,  but  with  the  vulgar  and  bigots 
of  their  own  times,  who  mrplicitely  received 
all  the  absurdities  which  fraud  and  fuper- 

*  Hujus  opus  unum  eft,  de  divinis  humanifque  verunv 
inyenire*  Sentc, 


PURSUIT  OF  IMPROVEMENT.  55 

flition  had  foifted  into  their  fyftems  of 
faith.  If,  by  the  efforts  of  unaided  philo- 
sophy, out  of  a  people  thus  debafed,  could 
be  raifed  a  Socrates,  an  Epicletus,  an  An- 
toninus, what  honours  fhort  of  divine,  are 
not  due  to  it?  Nor  have  its  fervices  to 
mankind  in  later  ages  been  much  lefs  con- 
spicuous ;  for  not  to  iniift  on  the  great  ad- 
vancements in  art  and  fcience  which  have 
originated  from  natural  philofophy,  (iince 
they  are  queftioned  by  none)  what  man  of 
enlarged  ideas  will  deny,  that  the  philofophy 
of  the  human  mind,  of  law,  of  commerce,  of 
government,  of  morals,  and,  I  will  add,  of 
religion,  have  greatly  contributed  to  any 
fuperiority  this  age  may  claim  over  former 
periods?  If  philofophy  thus  employed 
have  occaftoned  fome  evils,  a  more  cor- 
rect and  diligent  ufe  of  the  fame  will  re- 
move them.  If  erroneous  conclufions 
have  been  drawn  from  a  partial  or  pre- 
mature induction  of  fads,  they  will  be  rec- 
tified by  a  future  more  extenfive  induction. 
After  all,  no  medium  can  pofiibly  be  af- 
iigned  between  reafoning  freely,  and  not 
reafoning  at  all — between  fubmitting  im* 
plicitly  to  any  human  authority,  and  to 
G  2 


56  L  E  T  T  E  R        V. 

We  are  placed  in  this  world  with  a  va- 
riety of  faculties,  and  of  objecls  on  which 
to  excercife  them.  Doubtlefs,  there  are  in 
nature  limits  which  we  cannot  pafs ;  but? 
what  man  (hall  prefume  to  mark  them, 
out  for  other  men  ? — What  man  fhall  fay 
to  his  fellow-men,  I  permit  you  to  exer- 
cife  your  reafon  upon  thefe  obje&s,  but  I 
forbid  you  from  exercihng  it  on  thofe? 
Many,  indeed,  have  fo  prefumed  ;  but  the 
friends  of  truth  and  mankind  have  ever 
refilled  their  ufurped  authority. 

For  you,  my  dear  Son,  I  do  not  appre- 
hend that  you  will  be  backward  in  afTerting 
trie  nobleft  prerogative  of  man.  Of  all 
improvements,  that  of  your  own  mind  is 
of  the  molt  confequence  to  you.  It  is 
likewife  that  the  moft  in  your  power,  and 
in  the  purfuit  of  which  you  will  be  leaf! 
liable  to  thwart  the  interefls  and  prejudices 
of  others.  Remember,  however,  that  the 
fureft  mark  of  progrefs  is  a  full  perception 
of  the  difproportion  between  acquisitions, 
already  made,  and  thofe  which  remain  to, 
be  made. 

Adieu? 


(     57     ) 


LETTER    VI, 


W    THE     LOVE     OF     APPLAUSE,     EXEMPLIFIED 
IN    THE    YOUNGER    PLINY. 


DEAR    SON, 

It  has  for  fome  years  been  my  cufrom, 
after  the  perufal  of  an  author,  to  note 
down  the  general  impreflions  it  left  on  the 
mind ,-  and  this  practice,  which  I  began  as 
ufeful  to  myfelf,  I  have  followed  with  more 
attention,  iince  I  reflected  that  it  might  be 
rendered  of  fome  utility  to  my  children. 
It  may  therefore  not  unfrequently  happen, 
that  fuch  remarks  afford  the  fubjed  of  a 
letter ;  and  at  prefent  I  mean  to  commu- 
nicate to  you  my  reflections  on  the  elegant 
and  inftruftive  Epiftles  of  Pliny. 

Dr.  Johnfon's  obfervation  concerning 
the  fallacy  of  the  common  notion,  that  a 
man  lays  open  his  mind  without  difguife 
in  his  familiar  correfpondence,  would  be 


58  LOVE    OF    APPLAUSE. 


ftrikingly  confirmed  by  thefe  letters,  pro- 
vided they  could  properly  be  termed  fami- 
liar. But  though  many  of  them  are  ad- 
drerTed  to  'the  moll  intimate  friends  he  had 
in  the  world,  and  relate  to  perfonal  topics, 
yet  as  we  know  that  they  were  publifhed 
by  the  writer  himfelf,  after  they  had  un- 
dergone his  revillon  and  correction,  we 
may  be  arTured  that  their  purpofe  was  not 
the  fimple  effufion  of  his  mind.  In  fact, 
the  evident  dehgn  of  almoft  every  letter  in 
the  collection  is,  as  we  commonly  exprefs 
it,  to  fit  himfelf  off  5  for  they  turn  upon 
fome  a<3  of  munificence  which  he  had  per- 
formed, fome  inftance  of  his  literary  and 
oratorical  reputation,  his  attachment  to 
itudy,  his  philofophical  temper  of  mind, 
his  love  of  virtue,  in  fhort,  upon  fome- 
thing  that  may  heighten  his  character  in 
the  idea  of  his  correfpondent.  His  lead- 
ing foible,  indeed,  the  third  of  applaufe, 
they  very  amply  exhibit ;  for  he  neither 
wifhed  to  conceal  it,  nor  could  he  do  it 
confidently  with  his  purpofe  of  obtaining 
apphufe.  But  we  (hall  in  vain  look-for 
any  touches  of  nature  which  may  mate  us 
acquainted  in  other  refpects  with  the  man. 
\%  fo  varnifhed  over  with  fplendid  fen- 


LETTER       VI,  59 

timents,  and  elegancies  of  thought,  and  ex- 
prefhon,  that  no  peculiar  features  are  dif- 
cernible.  The  fubject  of  every-  letter  is  a 
theme,  on  which  the  fined  things  are  to  be 
faid  ;  and  we  are  continually  tempted  to 
believe,  that  the  benevolent  or  generous 
aclion  he  relates,  was  done  for  the  exprefs 
purpofe  of  difplaying  it  to  a  friend  in  its 
faireft  colouring. 

Yet  fince,  from  the  concurring  tedimo- 
ny  of  writers,  we  know  that  Pliny  was  m 
reality  a  mod  exemplary  charader  both  in 
public  and  private  life,  another  inference  to 
be  drawn  is,  that  the  love  of  admiration, 
how  much  foever  it  may  deferve  the  name 
of  a  zveaknefs,  is  not  on  the  whole  unfa- 
vourable to  virtue.  The  defire  of  praife 
is  a  motive  to  do  that  which  we  think  may 
deferve  praife.  This  may  occafionally,  in 
perfons  of  a  corrupted  tafte,  lead  to  en- 
deavours at  excelling  in  trivial  and  ufelds 
performances;  but  it  can  fcarcely  ever 
lead  to  adions  manifestly  bafe  and  flagi- 
tious. And  on  thofe  who  have  formed  a 
juft  fenfe  of  what  is  praife-worthy,  its 
operation  will  be  beneficial,  by  engaging 
felf-love  as  an  auxiliary  to  virtuous  prin- 
ciples, ' 


60  LOVE    OF    APPLAUSE. 

The  age  of  Pliny  abounded  in  charac- 
ters of  the  pureft  virtue.  It  would  feem 
as  if  the  (hocking  and  deteflable  forms  in 
which  vice  had  exhibited  herfelf  under 
the  worft  of  the  Roman  emperors,  had 
awakened  in  mankind  a  double  admira-. 
tion  of  her  oppofite.  At  the  fame  time, 
the  refined  civility  of  the  age  had  foftened 
the  rigid  morality  of  the  old  Romans  into 
a  fyftem  in  which  the  humane  virtues  had 
their  proper  place.  Trained  in  the .  bell 
principles,  and  early  imbued  with  venera- 
tion for  the  nobleft  characters,  Pliny 
courted  the  public  efteem  by  an  imitation 
of  exalted  worth ;  and  if  his  virtue  was 
not  of  the  complexion  of  that  which  can 
content  itfelf  with  its  own  confcioufnefs, 
yet  it  was  fufficiently  founded  in  habit  and 
conviction,  to  induce  him  to  be  what  he 
wifhed  to  appear.  In  every  age  and  coun- 
try, the  public  will  have  reafon  to  be  am- 
ply fatisfied,  if  its  men  of  rank  and  high 
office  (hall  be  Plinies. 

The  vanity  of  this  writer  appears  leaft 
refpeclable  when  it  turns  upon  literary 
fubjecis.  It  was  his  ardent  defire  to  be 
thought,  not  only  an  excellent  pleader  and 
rhetorician,  but  a  proficient  in  every  kind 


tOVE  OF  APPLA'USE.  6l 

«f  compofirion*,  profe  or  verfe,  light  or  fe- 
rious.     That  his  fondnefs  for  difplaying 
himfelf,  rendered  him  extremely  prolix, 
may  be  judged,    not  only  from  his  boaftfui 
relations  of  pleadings  of  five  or  fix  hours 
at  a  time,  and  his  frequent  commendations 
of  good  hearers*   but  from  his  laboured  and 
diffufe   panegyric    on    Trajan*       I    doubt 
not  that  the  patient  and  even  applaufive 
attention  to  his  long  declamations  and  re- 
citations, of  which  he  fo  often  informs  his 
friends,  proceeded  rather  from  a  refpecl  to 
his  character,  and  a  wifh  to  pleafe  him, 
than  from  the  real  fatisfaction  of  his  audi- 
tors.    From  various  paffages  in  his  letters 
we  may  difcover  that  application  was  made 
to  this  foible  by  perfons  who  were  defirous 
of  ingratiating  themfelves  in  his  favour. 
This  is  the  danger  of  an  exceffive  love  of 
applaufe ; — not  that  it  mould  vitiate  the 
heart,  but  that  it  mould  corrupt  the  judg- 
ment,  and  lay  a  man  open  to  the  ridicule 
of  the  malignant,  and  the  artifices  of  the 
defigning* 

Farewell  f 

H 


C    <fe    ) 


LETTER  Vlf. 


ON  THE  STORY  OF  ClUCE. 


#EAR  SON, 

There  was  a  period1  of  criticifm  12* 
which  the  works  of  Homer  were  fuppofed 
to  contain  an  encyclopedia  of  human- 
knowledge  ;  and  every  thing  of  art,  fci- 
ence,  and  wifdom,  which  after-ages  had 
developed,  were  aflerted  to  lie  in  their 
feeds  within  the  compafs  of  his  hiftory  and 
fable.  Under  this  imprefnon,  commen- 
tators were  naturally  led  to  fearch  for  re- 
condite meanings  in  every  fcene  of  inven- 
tion by  which  he  diverhfied  his  poems  ; 
and  particularly  they  fought  to  improve 
the  barrennefs  of  his  morality,  by  allego- 
Tifmg  his  fictions.-  The  double  nature  of 
the  heathen  deities  ferved  their  purpofe 
very  happily  in  many  of  thefe  attempts  ? 
and  there  was  little  difficulty  in  perfuading. 


STORY  OF  CIRCE.  6$ 

the  reader  that  Pallas  was  wifdom  per- 
sonified in  infpiring  an  aclion  of  policy, 
though  a  few  lines  before  ilie  had  prompt- 
ed deeds  of  valour  as  the  martial  goddefs. 
Sounder  criticifm  has  brought  back  many 
of  thefe  fancied  allegories  to  fimple  narra- 
tives. Reafoning  upon  the  charade r  of 
the  age  in  which  Homer  lived,  and  the  ge- 
neral ftrain  of  his  writings,  it  has  refufed 
to  admit  ideas  and  defigns  manifeftly  ori- 
ginating in  a  very  different  Hate  of  intel- 
lectual progrefs. 

You  may  recollect  our  reading  together 
the  epiftle  of  Horace  to  his  friend  Lollius, 
and  admiring  the  eafy  good  fenfe  with  which 
he  deduces  leffons  of  moral  wifdom  from 
the  writings  of  Homer.  Thefe  are,  in  ge- 
neral, fuch  as  any  real  hiftory  filled  with 
a  variety  of  events  and  characters  might 
fugged;  but  from  the  adventures  of 
Ulyfles,  he  felecls  two  as  confeffedly  alle- 
gorical, 

Sirenum  voces  et  Circae  pocula  nodi ; 

and  the  fame  opinion  of  them  has,  I  be* 
lieve,  been  entertained  by  all  fucceeding 
commentators  to  the  prefent  day.  Of  the 
Sirens'  fong,  I  do  not  at  this  time  mean  to 
H2 


64  LETTER       Vf|. 

take  notice  ;  but  I  fhall  offer  to  your  con- 
sideration fome  remarks  on  the  ftory  of 
Circe. 

The  leading  circumftances  in  this  nar- 
ration, of  an  enchantrefs  turning  men  in- 
to beafts  by  a  charmed  cup,  and  of  a  wife 
man  by  virtue  of  a  counter-charm  reiifting 
the  force  of  her  fpells,  afford  fo  plaufible  a 
foundation  for  a  moral  allegory  on  the  de- 
bating effects  of  fenfuality,  and  the  prefer- 
vative  power  of  wifdom,  that  we  need  not 
be  furprifed  at  its  having  been  univerfally 
received  as  fuch.  Accordingly,  the  Cir- 
cean  cup  has  become  a  phrafe  in  every  cul- 
tivated language  ;  and  the  mofl  celebrated 
poets  of  different  countries  have  imitated 
or  new  modelled  the  ftory  writh  the  hap- 
pieft  effecL  Yet  independently  of  the 
general  argument  againft  allegorical  inter- 
pretation, drawn  from  Homer's  characler 
of  writing,  there  are  in  the  ftory  itfelf, 
when  clofely  examined,  fuch  contradictions 
to  the  fuppofed  moral  defign,  that  we  mufl 
either  give  it  up  as  a  falfe  notion,  or  con- 
clude that  the  author  was  abfolutely  void  of 
the  judgment  requifite  for  fuch  a  fpecies  of 
compoiition. 


STORY  OF  CIRCE.  6*5 

Let  us  trace  the  outline  of  the  fable. 

UlyiTes,  landing  upon  the  ifland  of  Circe, 
fends    a   party   to   explore    the    country. 
They  arrive  at  the  palace  of  Circe,  who 
courteoufly  invites  them  to  enter  ;    and  all 
but  Eurylochus  comply.     She  fets  before 
them  a  mixture  of  meal,   cheefe,  honey, 
and  Pramnian  wine ;    the   fame  composi- 
tion as  Neclor  prepares  for   the  wounded 
chiefs  in  the  Iliad.     With  this  me  mixes 
poifonous  drugs ;  and  after  they  have  all 
partaken    of    the    refection,     fhe     Itrikes 
them  with  a  rod,  and  they  are  inftantly 
transformed  into    fwine.      Now,  what  is 
there  in  this  that  looks  on  their  parts  like 
intemperance  or  grofs  fenfuality  ?  Could 
they  have  done  lefs  than  accept  a  civility 
which   had    nothing   extraordinary  in   its 
circumstances,  and  in  which  they  did  not, 
as  far  as  appears,    exceed   the  bounds  of 
moderation?    Homer,  who  is   fo  copious 
in  the  praifes  of  hofpitality,  certainly  could 
not  mean  to  reprefent  it  as  a  fault  to  par- 
take of  the  hofpitable  board ;  and  his  greateft 
heroes  are  by  no  means  backward  or  abfte- .. 
mious  on  fuch  occaiions. 

But  what  follows?    On   the   return   of 
Eurylochus,  who  not  knowing  the  fate  of  J 


66  LETTER       VII* 

his  companions,  concluded  that  they  were 
all  murdered,  Ulyffes  bravely  refolves  to 
fet  out  alone  in  order  to  explore  the  event. 
In  the  way,  he  is  met  by  Hermes  in  the 
ihape  of  a  youth,  who  informs  him  of  the 
nature  and  mode  of  Circe's  enchantments ; 
and  prefenting  him  with  a  root  called 
Moly  as  a  prefervative,  directs  him,  on 
being  touched  with  the  rod,  to  draw  his 
fword,  and  threaten  Circe  with  death. 
4k  Then  (fays  he)  (he  will  invite  you  to 
her  bed ;  and  do  not  you  on  any  account 
refufe  the  offer,  hnce  it  will  conciliate  her 
kindnefs :  but  fijfi:  bind  her  with  an  oath 
not  to  plan  further  mifchief  againfr  you." 
Ulyffes  acts  in  all  points  as  he  was  com- 
manded. 

What  then  is  this  Moly?  The  com- 
mentators dare  not  call  it  temperance — that 
would  be  too  manifeft  an  outrage  to  the 
circumftances  of  the  adventure.  They 
make  it  therefore  inftruciion  or  prudence^ 
and  thus  are  at  once  conftrained  to  lower 
the  moral  to  a  mere  leflbn  of  caution. 
Moly,  however,  would  better  exprefs  the 
later  doctrine  of  election,  and  the  hnlefs 
privilege  of  the  faints :  For  Ulyffes,  with- 
.•oat  any  merit^  of  his  own,  indulges  with 


STORY  OF  CIRCE.  £</ 

immunity  in  much  grofler  acts  of  fenfuality 
than  his  men  had  done,  who  were  turned 
into  beafts  merely  for  following  the  com- 
mon dictates  of  nature.  The  fequel  is 
flill  more  irreconcileable  to  the  fuppofed 
allegory  of  temperance ;  for  Ulyfles  frays 
a  whole  year  with  Circe,  daring  tar  bed, 
and  making  merry  with  her  good  cheer, 
without  ever  thinking  of  Ithaca,  till  his 
men  remonftrate  with  him,  and  urge  his 
return.  It  is  obfervable,  that  this  part 
of  his  conduct  is  exactly  that  which  the 
Italian  poets  have  attributed  to  their  intem- 
perate heroes,  who  are  prefented  as  exam- 
ples of  great  virtues  with  great  defecls, 
Critics  attempt  to  obviate  this  objection  to 
the  flory,  by  faying  that  Ulyfles  was  not 
intended  for  a  perfect  character.  But  in 
an  adventure  meant  to  exemplify  a  parti- 
cular virtue,  it  would  be  abfurd  indeed  to 
make  the  principal  circumftance  a  devia- 
tion from  that  very  virtue. 

On  the  whole,  I  cannot  but  be  con- 
vinced, that  Homer  in  the  flory  of  Circe 
nad  no  other  end  in  view,  than  in  that  of 
the  Cyclops,  the  Laeftrigons,  and  various 
others,  namely,  to  gratify  the  paflion  for 
novelty  and  love  of  wonder  belonging  to 


68  LETTER       VII. 

all  ages  and  all  readers,  by  introducing 
into  the  travels  of  his  hero,  all  thofe  ex- 
traordinary narrations  which  he  had  learned 
from  tradition,  or  the  reports  of  mariners. 
This  purpofe,  fo  natural  in  a  poet  of  a 
rude  age,  will  account,  not  only  for  the 
ftrange  matter  intermixed  with  many  of 
his  fables,  but  for  their  being  introduced 
at  all.  He  who  looks  for  any  better 
reafon  for  many  things  that  he  will  find 
in  the  early  writers,  will  only  facrifice  his 
own  judgment  to  their  reputation. 

Your  affectionate,  &c« 


(  «9  ) 


LETTER  VIII. 

ON  NATURE   AND   ART,  AND  THE  LOVB  OF 
NOVELTY. 

DEAR  SON, 

The  Englifh  fchool  of  the  fine  arts  lias 
diftinguimed  itfelf  from  every  other,  by  a 
more  univerfal  reference  to  Jiature  as  a 
iranclard,  and  a  bolder  rejection  of  princi- 
ples of  art  long  and  widely  eftablifhed. 
Impatient  of  rules,  little  endowed  with  a 
capacity  for  ingenious  and  elegant  fiction,, 
but  ftrongly  feniible  of  natural  beauty  and 
fublimity,  our  men  of  tafte  have  fallen 
into  a  peculiarity  of  manner  which  has  its 
excellencies  and  its  defe&s.  It  has  foflered 
an  exact  judgment  in  representations  of  na- 
ture, whether  mental  or  corporeal ;  it  has 
elevated  the  imagination  with  the  noblefl 
obje&s,  and  touched  the  heart  with  the 
I 


7^  1  E  T  T  E  R      Vllt. 

mofl  genuine  paflions;  but  it  has  narrowed 
the  range  of  pleafurable  fenfations,  and 
has  infpired  a  faftidious  difrelifh  of  many 
efforts  of  ingenuity.  By  endeavouring  to 
purfue  to  the  firft  principles  of  an  abftracl 
philofophy  every  fpeculation  concerning 
the  fine  arts,  a  habit  has  been  introduced, 
of  refufing  to  be  pleafed  where  the  fource 
of  pleafure  could  not  be  fairly  traced ; 
and  that  du&ility  of  foul  towards  attempts 
to  amufe,  which  is  fo  happy  a  preparative 
to  their  effecls,  has  been  repreffed  by  the 
pride  of  reafoning.  Perhaps  the  true  phi- 
lophy  of  the  human  mind  has  fuffered  as 
much  from  this  feminizing  fpirit,  as  the 
capacity  for  enjoyment  has  done — perhaps 
the  right  folution  of  a  fundamental  theorem 
has  been  miffed  by  looking  too  far  for  it. 
I  intend  in  this  letter  to  offer  to  your  con- 
fideration  the  varied  operations  of  a  fimple 
principle,  which,  I  conceive,  will  explain 
and  juflify  many  things  that  our  national 
feverity  of  judgment  has  queffioned  or  re- 
jected. 

What  is  the  great  requilite  in  all  en- 
deavours to  entertain? — novelty.  Sati- 
ated and  diffatisfied  with  things  within 
our  daily  view,  we  roam  in  reftlefs  fearch 


NATURE    AND    ART.  7  J 

after  fomething  either  abfolutely  new,  or 
novel  in  form  and  degree.  This  paflion, 
whi^h  is  in  fome  meafure  univerfal  to  the 
human  race,  and  which  is  ever  itronger  in 
proportion  to  the  advancement  in  know- 
ledge and  civilization,  might,  perhaps,  by 
the  acute  metaphyfician  be  referred  to 
fome  remoter  principle  ;  but  practically  it 
is  ultimate  ;  and  the  defires  it  excites  no- 
thing elfe  can  fatisfy.  Inftead  of  afking, 
"  Who  will  fhew  us  any  good  ?"  our  cry 
is,  Who  will  fhew  us  any  thing  new  ? — 
and  he  who  is  fortunate  enough  to  be  able 
to  do  this,  is  fure  of  a  recompence. 

There  are  two  fources  from  whence  this 
defire  feeks  gratification  ;  nature  and  art. 
In  nature,  whatever  has  never  before,  or 
but  rarely,  been  prefented  to  us,  affords 
pleafure  on  that  account,  which  is  greatly 
enhanced  when  the  object  is  in,  other  re- 
fpects  capable  of  exciting  agreeable  fenfa- 
tions.  This  is  undoubtedly  the  nobleft, 
the  moil  delicious,  and  perhaps  the  moil 
copious  fource  of  pleafure  ;  but  to  many, 
its  enjoyments  to  any  great  extent  is  pre- 
cluded   by    circumftances,    and   probably 

)ength  of  time  will  exhauft  it  in  all.     The 
I  2 


72  LETTER       VIII. 

inhabitant  of  a  great  city,  impnioned 
within  its  walls  by  bufinefs  or  neceflity, 
can  only  at  fecond  hand  receive  the  im- 
preflions  proceeding  from  a  view  of  the 
grand  and  beautiful  of  nature's  works. 
And  even  the  villager,  though  placed 
amid  the  molt  picfturefque  affemblage  of 
woods,  lakes,  and  mountains,  muft  inevi- 
tably find  their  charms  pall  upon  his  fenfe, 
unlefs  fupported  by  new  objects  of  curi- 
ofity  opening  from  a  clofer  refearch  into 
the  wonders  of  creation.  It  is  the  fame, 
with  that  part  of  nature  which  relates  to 
mind.  The  ordinary  difplay  of  paftions 
and  interefls  which  we  behold  in  real  life 
and  in  hiftory,  proves  at  length  infufficient 
to  fill  our  minds.  We  eagerly  look  out 
for  more  extraordinary  characters  and 
events ;  and  at  laft  are  compelled  to  quit 
nature  altogether,  and  feed  our  appetite 
for  novelty  upon  imaginary  beings. 

To  art  then,  in  fome  form  or  other, 
we  all  refort  for  a  remedy  of  the  taedium 
•vitae  ;  and  national  taftes  are  chiefly  cha- 
raclerifed  by  the  mode  and  degree  in 
which  it  is  employed*  It  is  in  the  arts 
termed  imitative,  that  differences  in  thefc 
xefpecls  are  moil  remarkable.     It   might. 


NATURE.  AND    ART.  73 

have  been  fuppofed,  that,  referring  to  na- 
ture for  their  archetypes,  they  could  vary 
only  in  the  greater  or  lefs  perfection  of 
their  imitation.  But  as  this  has  not  been 
the  cafe,  it  is  evident  that  thefe  arts  mull 
have  fome  additional  object.  In  fact, 
they  are  not,  in  general,  intended  to  give 
exacl  copies  of  nature.  Their  purpofe  is 
to  heighten  her,  to  difguife  her,  to  alter 
her,  perhaps  for  the  worfe,  but  at  any  rate 
to  produce  novelty.  Nature  fupplies  the 
form  and  feature,  but  art  contributes  the 
drefs  and  air.  It  is  in  vain  to  attempt 
upon  general  principles  to  determine  the 
proportion  each  fhould  preferve  in  the 
combination.  For  whether  the  end  be  to 
pleafe  or  to  move,  to  flatter  the  imagina- 
tion, or  excite  the  paflions,  the  fuccefs  of 
the  means  will  greatly  depend  upon  man- 
ners, habits,  and  perhaps  phyfical  diverfi- 
ties,  in  refpecl  to  which  no  one  people 
can  be  a  rule  to  another.  But  I  have 
dwelt  too  long  upon  general  ideas — let  us 
come  to  examples. 

The  drama  is  of  all  the  efforts  of  art 
that  which  approaches  the  nearer!  to  na- 
ture. It  has  every  advantage  conjoined, 
which  the  others  poiTefs  lingly  ;  and  indeed 


74  LETTER       VIII. 

in  fome  circumftances  almoft  ceafes  to  ber 
a  reprefentation,  but  is  the  thing  itfelf. 
Yet  how  differently  have  different  nations 
conducted  their  dramatic  fpe&acles,  and 
how  manifeftly  have  they  intended  varia- 
tion from  nature,  where  copying  it  would 
have  been  obvious  and  eafy.  The  Greeks, 
as  you  well  know,  wrote  all  their  plays 
in  meafure,  and  pronounced  them  in  re- 
citative, with  the  accompaniment  of  mu- 
fic,  and  with  regulated  gefticulation.  They 
covered  the  ftage  with  a  chorus,  which  was 
made  privy  to  the  molt  fecret  tranfactions, 
and  interrupted  the  dialogue  by  odes  of 
the  mofl  elevated  poetry.  All  this  was 
certainly  deviating  far  enough  from  rea- 
lity ;  yet  never  were  the  powers  of  the  ftage 
over  the  paflions  more  confpicuous  than 
in  Greece,  and  never  were  a  people  more 
enthuliaftically  fond  of  theatrical  exhibi- 
tions. In  all  thefe  points  the  Romans 
exactly  copied  them.  Modern  nations 
have  in  different  degrees  followed  the  an- 
cient models.  All  have  adopted  verfe  as 
the  vehicle  of  tragedy,  and  moft,  of  co- 
medy. They  have,  at  lead  in  the  inter- 
ludes, affociated  dance  and  mufic.  But 
the  Italians,  in  their  operas,  have  employed 


MATURE    AND    ART*  J* 

throughout   the  fame  artifices   of    recita- 
tive, fong,  and  meafured  action,  that  were 
tifed  by  the  ancients.     A  true-bred  Eng- 
lishman   laughs    at   all    this,     or    yawns* 
Some  of  our  firft  wits  have  not  difdained 
to  point  their  ridicule  againlt  heroes  ftab- 
bing  themfelves    in  cadence,    and   lovers 
expiring  with  a   quaver.     But   a  fenfible 
Italian  furely  does  not  want  to  be  told  that 
this  is  not  nature.     He  looks  for  nature  in 
the  ftory*,  the  paflions  and  the  fentiments; 
but  by  allying  it  with  the  charms  of  exqui- 
fite  mufic   and   graceful  geiture,  he  [eds 
that  he  obtains  fomething  more,  without 
lofing  any  thing.     It  may,  indeed,  require 
time  and  exercife  to  acquire  a  true  relifh 
for    fuch   exhibitions,     and   fafhicn   may 
have  induced  many  to  affecl  at  thefe  fpec- 
tacles  a  pleafure  which  they  do  not  fedy 
efpecially  when  the  language  of  the  piece 
is  a  foreign  one.     But  I  think  we   cannot, 
without  grofs   prejudice,  doubt  that  they 
are  capable  of  exciting  genuine  raptures', 
and  that,  in  perfons  whofe  fenfe   of  pro- 
priety is  as  juft  and  delicate   as  our  own* 
You  know  that  in  this  matter  I  rojy  claim 
an  unprejudiced  opinion,  at  leait  on  the 
fide  for  which  I  am  pleading,  fmce  my 


76  LETTER       VIII. 

own  taftes  are  perfectly  homebred,  and 
my  convi&ion  of  the  power  of  fuch  arts 
is  founded  more  on  the  teflimony  of 
others,  than  on  my  own  experience.  I 
confefs,  that  I  was  inclined  to  laugh  at 
the  idea  of  heroic  dancing,  till  a  friend  of 
mine,  a  judicious  unaffecled  country  gen- 
tleman, who  had  been  to  fee  Veftris  in  a 
ferious  opera,  allured  me,  that  he  had  re- 
ceived from  his  action  fenfations  of  dig- 
nity, grace,  and  pathos,  furpaffing  any 
thing  of  which  he  had  before  formed  a 
conception. 

What  is  tragedy  among  ourfelves  ?  Is 
it  not  a  dialogue  in  verfe,  intermixed  with 
all  the  decorations  of  poetry? — and  is 
this  nature  f  I  am  aware  that  Englifh 
blank  verfe  may  be  fo  pronounced,  as  to 
be  no  verfe  at  all ;  and  this  fuppofed  im- 
provement was  introduced  on  our  flage  by 
Garrick,  whofe  idea  of  perfect  recitation 
was  that  of  imitating  natural  fpeech  as 
nearly  as  poflible.  In  highly  impaflioned 
parts,  and  efpecially  where  fhort  and 
broken  fentences  copied  the  real  language 
of  emotion,  this  mode  certainly  gave  him 
an  advantage  in  exciting  the  fympathy  of  a 
common  audience*     But  where  the  writer 


NATURE    AND    ART.  -jj 

was^  and  meant  to  be,  poetical,  I  cannot 
but  think  that  a  recitation  with  the  ore  ro- 
tundo  of  Booth  and  Barry,  in  which  a  mu- 
iical  flow  was  given  to  fentences  by  means 
of  returning  fwells  and  cadences,  with  a 
light  fufpenlion  of  the  voice  to  mark  the 
clofe  of  each  line,  had  a  finer  effect.,  and 
better  coincided  with  the  purpofe  of  the 
poet.  It  is  obvious  to  remark,  that  if 
verfe  is  not  to  be  pronounced  as  fuch,  it 
is  unneceffary  to  write  it ;  for  any  pleafuro 
the  eye  can  receive  by  parcelling  out  lines 
into  divifions  of  ten  fyllables,  mufl  be 
merely  chiidifh,  unlefs  it  originally  refers 
to  the  ean 

In  every  Country  but  our  own,  verfe  is 
read  with  what  we  call  a  tone  or  chant — a 
fort  of  modulation  between  linging  and 
common  fpeaking;  as  it  undoubtedly  was 
likewife  by  the  Greeks  and  Romans.  In 
this  mode  of  reciting,  emphafis  is,  to  our 
ears,  almoft  entirely  loft,  as  any  one  will 
perceive  on  hearing  French  verle  read  by 
a  native.  Yet  no  readers  appear  more 
imprefled  with  their  fubjedt,  or  more  to 
interefl:  their  hearers,  than  the  French. 
We  always  endeavour  to  preferve  the  em- 
K 


^8  LETTER     Vlir. 

phafis,  though  often  to  the  total  lofs  of 
the  modulation.  Which  of  thefe  methods 
is  bell,  cannot  ealily  be  determined  by 
general  principles,  but  mull  be  referred 
to  taftes  and  habits  already  formed.  On 
the  whole,  however,  that  nation  which 
derives  the  greatefl  pleafure  from  its  per- 
formances, has  befl  attained  its  end.  With 
this  remark,  and  the  corollary — that  no 
one  nation  can  be  a  competent  judge  of 
the  verfification  of  another — I  conclude 
my  prefent  letter,  to  refume  the  fubjecl 
in  the  nexw 


.    (  79     ) 


LETTER    IX. 


THE  FORMER  SUBJECT  CONTINUED. 


The  train  of  thought  which  I  have  fol- 
lowed, next  leads  me  to  confider  th.z  poeti- 
cal language  of  tragedy ;  another  circum- 
ftance  in  which  art  takes  the  lead  of  na- 
ture. I  know,  indeed,  that  critics  have 
aflerted  figurative  diction  to  be  natural  to 
perfons  labouring  under  ftrong  emotions  ; 
but  for  proof  of  this  aflertion,  I  find  quo- 
tations from  Shakefpear,  inftead  of  ap- 
peals to  fad.  One  of  thefe  critics,  and  of 
no  mean  rank,  has  given  as  an  example  of 
the  natural  playfulnefs  of  a  lover's  imagi- 
nation, Juliet's  fancy  of  cutting  out  Ro- 
meo all  into  little  flars  when  he  is  dead. 
I  do  not  deny  that  a  certain  degree  of  men- 
tal excitement  (to  ufe  modern  phrafeology) 
may,  like  a  cheerful  glafs  vivify  the  ima- 
giriation,  and  impart  a  glow  and  fluency 
K2 


0O  LETTER        IX*» 

of  exprefiion  ;  but  I  never  knew  a  real  in* 
fiance  in  which  violent  paiTion,  like  in- 
toxication, did  not  overwhelm  the  intel- 
lectual faculties,  and  abolifh  all  connexion 
of  though",  and  choice  of  language.  But 
tragedy  cannot  confift  of  ahs  and  ohs,  of 
exclammations  and  broken  fentences.  Its 
purpofe  is  to  delight,  to  inftrucl,  to  ele- 
vate, and  above  all,  to  gratify  the  defire  af- 
ter novelty  :  the  pafiion  of  tragedy  is  there- 
fore neceffarily  made  fluent,  inventive, 
eloquent,  metaphorical,  and  fententious. 
See  how  Milton  charaderifes  the  tragic 
writers  of  the  Grecian  fchool. 

Thence  what  the.  lofty  grave  tragedians  taught 

In  chorus  and  Iambic,  teachers  beft 

Of  moral  prudence,  with  delight  receiv'd 

In  brief  fententious  precepts,  while  they  treat 

Of  fate,  and  chance,  and  change  in  human  life, 

Hi'jh  a&ions,  and  high  paflions  beft  defcribing. 

Par.  Reg.  iv.  i6r. 

It  was  evidently  after  this  model,  that 
he  framed  his  Sam/on  Agonifies  and  Comas, 
pieces,  however  ill  adapted  for  the  mo- 
dern Englifh  ftage,  which  will  continue  to 
charm  and  inftrucl  the  cultivated  reader, 
as  long  as  the  language  in  which  they  ara 
written    ex  iris.       Nor    would  Shake  i) 


NATURE  AND  ART.  8  I 

himfelf,  though  peculiarly  ftiled  the  bard 
of  nature,  have  afforded  a  whole  fchool  of 
poetry  and  morals,  had  his  dialogue  been 
a  real  pattern  of  that  natural  fimplicity 
which  is  ufually  fuppofed  to  characterife 
it.  To  every  impartial  obferver  it  will 
be  rrfanifeft,  that  his  "  brief  fententious 
precepts"  are  generally  brought  in  with  ef- 
fort ;  and  that  his  fublime  and  often  far- 
fetched images  rather  belong  to  the  play- 
writer,  than  to  the  fpeaker.  The  fweet 
Racine  and  the  lofty  Corneille  communi- 
cated their  own  diftinctions  to  all  their  cha- 
racters, and  were  properly  *l  defcribers 
of  high  actions  and  high  paffions"  in  their 
feveral  ftyles.  In  fliort,  if  tragedy  be  not 
confidered  as  a  fublime  poem,  rather  than  a 
mere  fable  to  move  the  paffions  for  a  mo- 
ral purpofe,  it  will  be  impoflible  not  to 
prefer  the  Game(ter  and  George  Barnwell 
to  any  performance  of  Shakefpear,  Cor- 
neille, or  Sophocles, 

It  would  not  be  a  difficult  taflt  to  apply 
this  principle  of  novelty  to  various  other 
fpecies  of  poetical  composition,  and  parti- 
cularly by  it  to  account  for  the  fuppofed 
necefhty  of  machinery  in  the  Epic,  which 
can.    fcarcely  have  any   other   reaibnable 


82  L   E  T  T  E  R        IX. 

purpofe  than  to  excite  wonder ;  but  I 
{hall  at  preient  content  myfelf  with  fome 
remarks  on  its  fundamental  importance  in 
Pa/h, 

The  nature  and  defign  of  paftoral 
poetry  have  been  very  differently  repre- 
fentcd  by  critics,  and  their  opinions  have 
been  refpeclively  fupported  by  appeals  to 
the  practice  of  different  writers.  I  have 
rid  doubt,  however,  that  the  true  fecret  of 
the  plealure  derived  from  paftoral,  and 
coniequentlv,  of  the  genuine  plan  on 
which  it  mould  be  written,  is  an  univerfai 
longing  after  a  certain  imagined  ftate  of 
fociety,  which  never  did  exift,  but  which 
may  readily  be  conceived,  and  by  its  in- 
nocence, tranquillity,  and  hmple  delights, 
fweetly  contrails  with  the  turbulence  and 
evils  of  the  real  world.  It  is  no  new 
opinion  that  this  poetry  has  a  reference  to 
L;.e  golden  age  ;  but  by  this  age,  I  would 
not  underfland  any  period  recorded  by 
tradition,  but  rather  a  kind  of  Utopia,  in 
which  the  wounded  and  wearied  fpirit  of 
man  Iras  ever  delighted  to  take  refuge.  In 
this  fancied  picture,  however,  there  is  a 
ral  part ;  for  fuch  are  the  real  charms 
e:  nature,  that    even   imagination  can  do 


NATURE  AND  ART.  83 

no  more  in  decorating  a  terreflrial  para- 
dife,  than  to  colled  in  one  fpot,  and  in 
their  higheft  perfedion,  all  the  delightful 
productions  of  different  climes  and  fea- 
fons.  More  has  fometimes  been  at- 
tempted ;  but  the  novelty  of  trees  bearing 
flowers  of  gems  and  fruits  of  gold,  has  not 
atoned  for  its  inconguity  ;  and  after  all, 
an  orange  tree  is  a  more  beautiful  object. 
But  manners,  alas !  muft  be  invented  for 
the  fcene.  The  tender  padion  in  a  de- 
gree of  purity  it  never  pollened,  content, 
difintereftednefs,  benevolence,  iimplicitv, 
and  delicacy,  which,  if  ever  they  infpired 
one  bofom,  certainly  never  did  one  ham- 
let, muft  concur,  along  with  fome  alloy  by- 
way of  contrail,  to  form  inhabitants  for 
the  blifsful  fpot.  Amid  fuch  a  faery  peo- 
ple, I  confefs  I  do  not  regret  nature  •  nor 
at  my  age  am  I  ahhamed  of  loling  myfelf 
in  the  Arcadian  walks  of  a  Pallor  Fido 
and  Aminta.  To  contaminate  a  beautiful 
creation  of  the  fancy  with  rude  manners 
and  coarfe  expreflions,  merely  becaufe 
they  belong  to  the  miferable  fliepherds  of 
this  actual  world,  appears  to  me  a  wretch- 
ed attempt  at  accuracy.  Better  difcard 
this  fpecies    of    poetry   altogether,    than 


84  LETTER       IX. 

render  it  the  vehicle  of  difguil.  Of  what 
value  are  the  itrifes  and  mean  paflions  of 
ruftics,  that  they  mould  be  decorated  with 
the  graces  of  verification,  and  make  a 
part  of  our  moil  elegant  amufement?  Is 
it  to  teach  us  mankind,  and  prevent  our 
being  impofed  upon  by  falfe  reprefenta- 
tions  ?  Alas !  we  know  too  well  that  no 
Arcadia  exifts  upon  modern  ground,  and 
that  vice  and  wretchednefs  prevail  in  the 
hamlet  as  well  as  in  the  city.  But  why 
might  we  not  for  a  time  be  indulged  with 
forgetting  it  ? 

Paftoral,  in  the  light  I  confider  it,  is 
rural  romance.  As  in  the  compofitions 
which  were  once  fo  celebrated  under  the 
name  of  romance,  a  fet  of  human  be- 
ings, trained  up  in  fanciful  principles, 
and  elevated  to  the  higheft  fcale  of  imagi- 
nary perfection,  are  engaged  in  a  feries  of 
equally  extraordinary  adventures ;  fo  in 
paftoral,  the  model  of  character,  and  the 
incidents  are  derived  from  a  fictitious  ftate 
of  fociety.  The  natural  circumfhnces, 
however,  of  the  paftoral  life,  accord  beft 
with  a  certain  iimplicity  of  language  and 
manners  ;  whence  the  conceits  and  quaint- 
neffes  in  the  dialogue  of  fome  of  the  Italian 


NATURE  AND  ART.  85 

pa  floral  dramas,  by  violating  congruity, 
offend  agaihft  true  tafte.  Yet,  in  fact,  to 
refine  the  language  of  fhepherds  from  all 
admixture  of  grofTnefs,  and  to  decorate  it 
with  the  iimpler  graces  of  fweetnefs  and 
purity.,  is  almoft  an  equal  departure  from 
reality.  But  without  fome  luch  accom- 
modation to  our  longings  after  a  new  and 
better  Mate  of  mankind,  the  great  end  of 
pleafmg  cannot  be  accompliihed. 

Were  I  inclined  to  purfue  my  fubjecl  at* 
length,  I  might  take  occafion,  from  the 
illuftration  I  have  employed,  to  treat  on 
romantic  fictions  in  general,  and  to  initi- 
tute  a  comparison  between  the  old  ro- 
mance, and  the  modern  novel.  But  not 
dehring  to  detain  you  fo  long  on  this  topic* 
I  mall  only  touch  upon  a  circumftance 
apparently  contradictory  to  that  love  of 
novelty  on  which  I  have  laid  fo  much 
ftrefs ;  and  this  is  the  preference  now  Jo 
univerfaily  given  to  novels,  over  the  ro- 
mances which  furniihed  matter  fo  much 
newer  and  more  marvellous.  The  rea- 
fon  of  this  facl  feems  to  be,  that  we  are 
much  more  creatures  of  feeling  than  of 
imagination  ;  and  that  nature  being  pre- 
L 


&6  LETTER 


IX. 


dominant  in  our  paflions,  all  attempts  to- 
excite  the  fympathetic  emotions  mufr 
fucceed  in  proportion  as  they  approach 
her  ftandard.  I  before  admitted,  that  the 
novelty  prefented  by  nature,  is  of  a  no- 
bler kind  than  that  produced  by  art. 
Uncommon  characters  and  extraordinary 
events,  therefore,  which  have  a  natural 
foundation,  will  always  intereft  more  than 
thofe  which  are  wholly  artificial.  Now, 
the  writings  ftyled  novels,  are  intended  to 
Imprefs  us  like  the  narrations  of  real  oc- 
currences. They  even  pretend  (how- 
ever falfely,  for  the  moil  part)  to  inftrudt 
us  in  the  knowledge  of  human  life.  Their 
effect  depends  upon  a  kind  of  illufion, 
which  makes  their  perfonages  appear  to  us 
like  familiar  acquaintance,  whofe  fentimenU 
and  actions  are  what  we  mould  expect 
from  the  circumftances  under  which  they 
are  placed.  Romance,  on  the  other  hand, 
tranfports  us  into  a  new  creation — a  world 
of  wonders,  peopled  with  inhabitants  ex- 
prefsiy  formed  for  the  fcene.  They  have 
fundamentally,  indeed ,  the  paflions  of  men, 
but  fo  modified  by  habits  of  thinking  and 
acting  peculiar  to  themfelves,  that  they 
do  not  produce  the  ufual  remits  of  thofe 


NATURE  AND  ART.  8  J 

paflions  in  real  life.  An  Amadis  will  fall 
in  love  as  well  as  a  Grandifon,  but  will  not 
love  like  him,  or  like  any  other  mortal.  Yet 
even  Grandifon  is  not  a   common  character, 

nor    is  his  hiftory   a   common   one and 

hence  the  novelty  of  the  fable.  It  is  true, 
the  ordinary  run  of  novels  exhibits  pictures 
which  are  little  more  than  old  fa^es  new 
dreiTed  and  grouped ;  and  yet  they  are 
perufed  with  avidity  by  a  certain  clafs  of 
readers.  But  the  taile  for  fuch  reading  is 
a  kind  of  falfe  appetite  refembling  that 
for  fnuff  and  tobacco,  which  rather  feeks 
the  fupply  of  a  want,  than  the  enjoyment 
of  a  pleafure. 

It  is  now  time  to  fum  up  my  critical 
doctrine,  which  I  (hall  do  in  few  words. 
This  is — that  even  the  pleafure  derived 
from  natural  objects  is  coniiderably  de- 
pendent on  their  novelty — that  art  more 
peculiarly  applies  to  this  fource  of  gratifi- 
cation— that  even  thofe  termed  imitative, 
have  a  purpofe  ditlind  from  copying  na- 
ture, whieh  is,  the  allying  it  with  fome- 

thing  new,   as  the  clothing  and  vehicle . 

and  that  with  refpect    to    the   degree   in 

which  thefe  additions  may  be  made  with 

L2 


88  L  E   T  T  E  R        IX. 

a  happy  effedl,   it  depends  in  great  mea- 
fure  upon  local  habits  and  affociations. 

I  may,  perhaps,   hereafter   apply  thefe 
ideas  to  another  topic.     At  prefent, 

Farewell !. 


(  *9  ) 


LETTER    X. 


ON      PREJUDICE,       BIGOTRY,      CANDOUR,      AND 
LIBERALITY. 


DEAR    SON, 

A  S  .  the  profeffional  concern  you  will 
have  in  the  opinions  of  mankind,  may 
fometime  or  other  involve  you  in  contro- 
verfy,  I  (hall  offer  to  your  confideration 
fome  reflections  on  the  true  import  of  cer- 
tain words,  than  which  none  more  fre- 
quently occur  in  controversial  writings, 
though  their  application  is  for  the  molt 
part  extremely  loofe  and  undeterminate. 
The  accurate  ufe  of  terms  is  in  all  cafes 
important ;  but  that  of  the  terms  in  quef- 
tion  is  peculiarly  fo,  in  thefe  times  of  vio- 
lent and  fitter  party  contention. 

The  fir  (I  that  I  mail  mention  is  Preju- 
dice.    This  word,  according  to  its  deri- 


go  L  E  T  T  E  R       X. 

vation,  implies  a  judgment  prior  to  examinq~ 
iioi ; — it  ieems,  therefore,  on  its  very- 
face,  to  bear  the  mark  of  ra(h  and  un- 
reafonable  deciiion.  But  in  common  lan- 
guage, its  meaning  is  frequently  foftened 
down  into  an  impreilion  which  a  man 
does  not  fcruple  to  avow,  and  for  that 
reafon  probably  does  not  recognize  to  be 
wrong.  "We  readily  own  a  prejudice  a- 
cjainft  a  man  or  a  caufe,  if  we  have 
grounds  from  experience  for  thinking  ill  of 
them.  And  as  it  is  frequently  necefTary, 
in  the  occurrences  of  life,  to  come  to  a 
practical  determination  in  a  cafe  where 
we  have  nothing,  but  fuch  a  prefumptioil 
to  guide  us,  we  cannot  be  blamed  for 
following  the  befi  lights  we  are  able 
to  procure.  Prejudice  in  this  inffance  is 
only  a  reafonable  analogy,  by  which  we 
draw  inferences  of  what  will  be  from  what 
has  been.  I  know  that  a  perfon  has  ac- 
quired an  ofRce  or  truil  by  fraudulent 
means. — I  am  inclined  to  credit  an  accu- 
fation  of  his  having  exercifed  it  fraudu- 
lently. A  magiitrate  has  betrayed  an  out- 
rageous fpirit  of  party  virulence* — I  fuf- 
pe£i  that  he  h^s  been  influenced  by  it  in 
decncn  of  caufes  in  which  party  was 


PREJUDICE,  BIGOTRY*   &T.  0,1 

concerned.  The  fupporters  of  a  certain 
fyflem  have  always  avoided  difcullion,  and 
as  much  as  poflible  decried  the  ufe  of 
reafom — I  infer  that  their  fyltem  will  not 
Hand  the  tell  of  reafoning*  In  all  thefe 
inftances,  the  judgment  I  form  may  in 
ftriclnefs  be  termed  a  prejudice,  becaufe  it 
remits  from  preconceptions,  not  from  di- 
rect examination  of  the  point  in  queflion. 
But  it  is  cenfurable  only  when  it  prevents 
me  from  recurring  to  fuch  an  examination 
when  in  my  power ;  and  makes  me  ac- 
quiefce  in  probability  when  1  might  have 
attained  certainty, 

Prejudice  is  blameable  and  unreason- 
able, when  the  inferences  it  draws  either  do 
not  at  all  follow  from  the  premifes,  or  not 
in  the  degree  it  fuppofes.  Thus,  (with 
due  fubmiflion  to  the  fcience  of  phyhog- 
nomy)  if  I  conclude  a  man  to  be  a  knave 
or  a  fool  from  the  length  of  his  nofe,  or 
the  projection  of  his  chin,  I  fuller  myfelf 
to  be  milled  by  an  abfurd  method  of  pre- 
judging what  cannot  be  determined  bv 
fuch  a  rule.  Scarcely  lefs  falfe  prejudice 
would  there  be  in  the  judgment  I  ihonld 
form  of  his  character,  from  his  known 
opinions  on  fpecuktive  points  of  philofo* 


§2  L  E  T  T  £  R       X. 

phy  or  theology.  In  thefe  inflances  the 
conclufions  are  totally  faulty — the  two 
members  of  the  proportion  having  no 
mere  agreement,  than  in  that  line  of  Pope, 
— each  ill  author  is  as  bad  .a  friend* 
In  other  inflances  the  error  is  only  in 
degree.  A  perfon  maintains  a  fyftem 
manifeftly  to  my  apprehenuon,  deftruc- 
tive  of  all  moral  obligation,  whence  I 
conclude  him  to  be  a  man  of  lax  morality. 
But  though  this  be  a  natural  confequence, 
it  is  not  a  certain  one  ;  for  daily  experience 
proves,  that  men  may  lead  the  moft  .ex- 
emplary lives  with  principles  apparently 
calculated  to  produce  an  oppofite  erred ; 
fuch  principles  either  not  operating  at  all, 
or  being  counteracted  by  more  powerful 
ones.  National  and  profeflional  charac- 
ters lead  to  erroneous  conclufions  in  a 
fimilar  degree.  When  drawn  from  ex- 
tenfive  and  accurate  obfervation,  they 
may  juftly  influence  the  firft  opinions  we 
form  of  individuals;  but  when  they  are 
adopted  as  univerfal  and  irrefragable  rules 
of  judgment,  and  render  us  inacceflible 
to  all  proofs  of  a  contrary  tenor,  they  de- 
generate into  the  worft  of  prejudices.  Con- 
troverfies  political  and  religious  are  pecu- 


PREJUDICE,  BIGOTRY,  &C.  93 

liarly  fullied  with  prejudices  of  this  kind. 
Every  fed  and  party  has  its  diilind  ob- 
noxious character,  imprelfed  on  the  minds 
of  its  violent  antagonifts,  who  aflbciate  it 
to  every  individual  of  the  clafs,  however 
contrary  to  the  manifeft  courfe  of  his  con- 
duel.  But  I  am  now  got  to  the  confines 
of  another  word,  which  is, 

Bigotry.  This  may  be  confidered  as 
prejudice  combined  with  a  certain  malig- 
nity. It  is  not  only  prepofTefTed  in  its 
judgment,  but  entertains  its  prepofleflions 
with  paflfion,  and  feels  imprefiions  of  ill- 
will  againft  thofe  who  oppofe  them.  It 
refills  all  attempts  at  confutation  with  per- 
tinacity and  anger.  An  antagonift,  in  its 
eftimation,  is  a  foe,  to  be  filenced  by 
other  means  than  argument.  A  bio-ot 
never  reafons  but  when  he  cannot  help  jtv 
and  thinks  himfelf  outraged  by  being- 
compelled  to  defcend  into  the  field  of 
equal  conteft.  At  the  hazard  of  difcredit- 
ing  his  own  ftrength  and  (kill,  he  is  ready  - 
to  call  out  for  the  civil  arm  to  handcuff 
or  knock  down  his  opponent.  After  the 
Earl  of  Nottingham  had  written  a  defence 
of  the  orthodox  faith  againft  the  attacks 
M 


94  LETTERS, 

of  Whiflon,  and  had  received  for   it 
iblemn  thanks   of  the   Univerfity  of  Ox- 
ford in  full  convocation,  he  attempted  to 
put  an  end  to  all  further  controverfy,  by 
introducing  into    the  Houfe  of    Peers   a 
bill    denouncing    moft     fevere    penalties 
agamft   any   one  who    mould  henceforth 
oppugn    the    eflablifhed    doctrines.       So 
mean  a  thing  was  bigotry  even  in  a  noble 
champion !     The    bigot    requires    to     be 
humanized  before  he  is   enlightened,    and 
the  correction  of  his  heart  muft   precede 
that  of  his  underftanding.     Simple  preju- 
dice is  at  once  removed  by  removing  the 
veil  which  concealed  the  truth ;   but   bi-: 
gotry  fofters  its  prejudices  as  it  would  pro- 
ted  a  child  or  a  miftrefs*     To  fpeak  of  a 
f.ncere  bigot    is   tautology,    fince,  bigotry 
includes  the  idea  of  hnccrity.     The  bigot 
is  ready  to  give  fubftantial   proof  of  the 
reality  of  his  zeal,  often  amounting  to  the 
:acrifice  of  his  deareft   intercfls.     On  the 
other  hand,   the   epithets  mild,    moderate, 
liberal,  rational,  can  never  in  any  degree 
belong  to  a  bigot.     It  is  not  bigotry  to  be 
firmly  attached  to  a  caufe,  and  to  conceive 
of  it  as  a  thing  of  the    higheft   moment ; 
but  it  is  bigotry  to  fliut  the  ears  againfl 


PREJUDICE,    E1G0TRY,    &C> 

Ai  arguments  on  the  oppofite  fide,  and  to 
refufe  others  that  liberty  of  judgment  which 
we  ourfelves  affume* 

Candour  is  in  ioiiie  meafure  the  oppo- 
fite of  bigotry ;  for  it's  eflence  c'onfrfts  in 
a  difpofition  to  form  a  fair  and  impartial 
judgment  on  opinions  and  actions.  In  the 
common  ufe  of  the  word  we  feem  to  in 
elude  a  leaning  towards  a  more  favourable* 
judgment  than  is  ftriclly  true.  But  this 
appears  to  me  to  be  deviating  from  the 
proper  fenfe  of  candour,  into  that  of  charity  y 
which,  as  the  Apoftle  defcribes  it^  "think- 
eth  no  evil."  Now,  a  perfon  cannot  have 
been  long  and  intimately  acquainted  with 
mankind,  without  feeing  reafon  too  often 
to  think  a  great  deal  of  evil  of  mens  mo- 
tives and  principles  of  action;  and  if  he 
imputes  to  them  no  more  than  the  rules 
of  jufr  inference  warrant,  I  imagine  he  is 
not  chargeable  with  the  violation  of  can- 
dour. 

There  is  an  affectation  of  candour  which 
t  cannot  but  think  very  detrimental  to 
the  interefts  of  truth  and  virtue.  It  is, 
when  in  fpeaking  or  writing,  a  complai- 
fant  credit  is  given  to  men's  own  expoli- 
Ms 


g-6  L  E  T  T  E  R       X. 

tions  of  their  motives,  in  actions  which  to 
the  common  fenfe  of  mankind  explain 
themfelves  upon  totally  different  princi- 
ples. If  the  hypocritical  cant  of  morals 
difplayed  in  rnanifeftos,  apologies,  declara- 
tions,, and  other  appeals  to  the  public  in 
fufpici-ous  caufes,  is,  from  a  notion  of  can- 
dour, to  be  treated  with  deference,  what 
mud  be  inferred,  but  that  candour  is  a 
very  weak,  or  a  very  worldly  principle  ? 
Clofelv  connected  with  univerfal  profli- 
gacy, is  univerfal  indulgence  ;  and  if  ex- 
cufes  are  readily  admitted  to  palliate  or 
explain  away  manifest  violations  of  ho- 
nour and  honefty,  the  great  barriers  be* 
tween  right  and  wrong  will  be  in  danger 
of  being  overthrown.  Certain  things 
which  are  customarily  done,  are  yet  fo 
clearly  wrong,  that  we  cannot  be  made  to 
feel  them  otherwife  without  debauching 
our  principles  or  understanding.  If  we 
fee  men,  whofe  general  characters  we  love 
and  efteem,  falling  through  strong  temp- 
tation into  thefe  errors,  it  is  a  much  better 
exercife  of  candour  to  dwell  upon  every 
virtue  they  poffefs,  and  fet  it  to  their  cre- 
dit in  counter-balance  to  one  failure,  than 


PREJUDICE,  BIGOTRY,  &C.  QJ 

to  vindicate  them  from  the  failure  itfelf,  by 
falfe  reafonings  or  improbable  fuppofitions. 

The  word  candour  may,  however,  be 
underftood,  as  referring  chiefly  to  the 
qualities  of  the  heart,  and  implying  that 
whitenefs  or  purity  of  foul,  which  infpires 
the  defire  of  maintaining  friendly  difpofi- 
tions  towards  all  mankind  ;  and  which  in 
itfelf,  at  leaft,  finds  no  cauie  to  judge 
harfhly  of  others.  And  the  continuance  of 
this  propenfvty  through  all  periods  of  life 
is  highly  defirable,  fince  it  will  prove  the 
beft  prefervative  againft  virulence  and 
acrimony  in  controverfial  debates,  and  will 
fend  to  heal  thofe  wounds  on  focial  com- 
fort, which  bigotry  is  perpetually  inflict- 
ing. This  fpirit  is  fo  beautifully  defcribed 
in  fome  lines  of  Cronus' s  poem  on  the 
death  of  Arminius,  that  I  cannot  refrain 
from  tranfcribing  them. 

Cui  caritate  temperata  libertas 

Certat  manere  diflidentibus  concors : 

Piaeque  purus  aequitatis  affe&us, 

Damnatus  aliis,  ipfe  neminetn  damnat ; 

Modeftiaeque  limitem  premens,  donat 

Nunc  verba  vero,  nunc  filentium  pad. 

Liberality  is  a  word  perhaps  of  more 
indeterminate  ufe  than  any  of  the  former. 
Its  proper  meaning,  when  applied  to  ien- 


Q&  LETTER       Xi 

timent,  feems  to  be,  that  generous  exp&ti* 
fion  of  mind  which  enables  it  to  look  be- 
yond all  petty  diftinclions  of  party  and 
iyftem,  and  in  the  eftimate  of  men  and 
things,  to  rife  fuperior  to  narrow  preju- 
dices. From  its  metaphorical  relation  to 
bounty,  it  indicates  free  allowance,  unftinted 
by  rigid  rules.  The  liberal  man,  like  the 
fenate  of  ancient  Rome,  is  fond  of  largely 
extending  the  relation  of  fellow-citizen- 
{hip,  and  loves  to  admit  all  mankind  to  a 
fraternal  (hare  of  the  regard  of  their  com- 
mon Parent,  The  chief  difficulty  in  ad^ 
jufting  the  claims  to  liberality  in  contro- 
verfial  points,  arifes  from  the  pretentions 
that  mere  indifference  often  makes  to  it. 
But  though  it  be  admitted,  that  without 
fomewhat  of  an  imprefiion  of  the  uncer- 
tainty or  comparative  unimportance  of  the 
fubjedls  about  which  difputants  are  fo 
much  divided,  it  is  fcarcely  poflible  to  re- 
gard them  with  a  liberal  fpirit,  yet  this 
Hate  of  mind  is  not  of  itfelf  liberality. 
It  may,  and  often  does,  produce  an  arro- 
gant and  contemptuous  mode  of  treating 
opponents  not  arrived  at  fo  happy  a  de- 
gree of  laxity,  which  is  as  really  contrary 


PREJUDI-CE,  BIGOTRY,   &C.  ()rt 

to  the  fpirit  of  liberality,   as  the   oppofite 
iiriclnefs  can  be. 

It  muft,  however,  be  confefled,  that 
there  is  in  the  very  nature  of  fome  tenets, 
fome thing  fo  efientially  adverfe  to  libe- 
rality, that  they  never  can  be  imagined  to 
fubfift  together.  A  man  who  is  fo  unfor- 
tunate as  to  believe  that  all  but  thofe  of 
his  own  way  of  thinking  are  doomed  to 
eternal  reprobation,  can  fcarcely,  what- 
ever be  the  native  temper  of  his  mind, 
view  with  any  thing  like  liberal  allowance 
the  opinions  oppofed  to  his  own,  or  the 
attempts  to  propagate  them.  How  can 
he  give  the  hand  of  fraternity  to  one  whom 
he  fuppofes  the  inveterate  foe  of  God  and 
man  ?  How  can  he  raife  himfelf  above 
differences,  which  in  his  own  eftimation 
rife  infinitely  beyond  every  thing  elfe  ? 

Among  the  caufes  we  have  for  thank- 
fulnefs,  it  is  not  the  leaft  confiderable,  that 
we  have  been  taught  to  regard  the  whole 
human  race  as  one  family,  all  capable  of 
rendering  themfelves  approved  by  their 
common  Father,  who,  in  allotting  them 
different  portions  of  light  and  knowledge, 
has  certainly  not  expecled  from  them  an 
Uniformity  of  belief  and  practice. 


IOO  LETTER       X. 

I  conclude  with  a  brief  exemplification 
of  the  ufe  of  the  terms  in  queftion. 

When  Jefus  preached,  Prejudice  cried, 
"  Can  any  good  thing  come  out  of  Naza- 
reth ?"  "  Crucify  him,  crucify  him,  ex- 
claimed Bigotry.  "  Why,  what  evil  hath 
he  done?"  remonftrated  Candour.  And 
Liberality  drew  from  his  words  this  infer- 
ence, "  In  every  nation,  he  that  feareth 
God  and  worketh  righteoufnefs,  is  accepted 
with  him." 

Your  truly  affectionate,  &c. 


(  —  ) 


LETTER    XL 


ON    RELIGIOUS    SOCIETIES. 


bEAR  SON> 

We  have  read  together  an  EJJay  on 
Seffs  andEjlablifhmenls,  with  an  admiration 
in  which  we  might  fufpect  an  allowable 
partiality,  had  not  the  unbiailed  voice  of 
the  public  given  an  equal  attestation  to  its 
merit.  The  truly  philofophical  view  it 
has  taken  of  the  fubjecl,  and  the  novel 
and  acute  observations  witli  which  it 
abounds,  exprelied  with  a  chara&eriftic 
force  and  brilliancy  of  language,  have 
fairly  entitled  it  to  the  rank  of  a  inafter- 
piece  in  its  kind.  The  home  truths  it 
contains  have  not>  I  believe,  been  uni- 
verfally  reliflied,  but  they  have  command- 
ed the  aflent  of  impartial  obfervers.  Pof- 
iibly,  however,  forne  of  the  ideas  given  in 
N 


*02  LETTER       XI. 

it  concerning  Seffs,    are  rather  hiftoricarlly 
than  effentially   true ;   and   new  rtates  of 
opinion  and  manners  may  arife,    in  which 
different  principles  mull:  be  called  in  for 
the  purpofe  of  determining  on  their  cha- 
racter and  fate.       Inafmuch  as   feds  are 
the    counterparts    of    eftablifliments,    the 
fpirit  of  the  one  muff  depend   upon  that 
of  the   other;    and  it  may  happen,   that 
without  any  manifeft   change  in  an  efla- 
blifhment,    its   influence  on  men's  minds 
may  be  fo  much  altered,  as  materially  to 
alter  the  nature  of  diffent  from  it.     I  will 
not  fay  that  this  has  actually  taken  place 
among  us ;  yet  in  proportion   as   the  full 
right  in   every   individual  to  choofe  his 
mode  of  religion  is  commonly  admitted, 
as  penalties  and  difabilities  are  foftened  or 
abolifhed,  and  as  men  are   accuflomed  to 
view  with  unconcern-  different  fyflerrrs  of 
faith  and  worfhip,    it  i3  evident,  that  the 
circumftance  of  belonging  to  a  feci  or  an 
eftablilhment,  will  produce  lefs  effect  upon 
manners  and  character.     In  this  Hate  of 
tilings,  indeed,  according  to  the  doctrine  of 
the  EfTay,-  the  caufe  of  Sects  will  infallibly 
decline  ;  but  I  know  not  whether  the  fpirit 
of  forming  religious  focieties  will  not,   on- 


ON    RELIGIOUS    SOCIETIES.  IO3 

the  contrary,  gain  ground.  It  appears  to 
me  that  this  is  already  the  fpirit  of  many 
feparatifts,  who,  while  they  have  loft  all 
attachment  to  feds,  as  confuting  of  united 
bodies  known  by  particular  designations, 
have  by  no  means  become  indifferent  in 
their  choice  of  religious  inftitutions. 

By  a  religious  fociety,  in  contradistinction 
to  a  feft,  I  under  Hand  limply  this — that  a 
number  of    perfons  of  a  fimilar  way  of 
thinking,  for  no  other  purpofe  than  merely 
to  enjoy   to    the  greateft   advantage  their 
own  tafles  and  opinions  in  religion,  aflbci- 
ate  to   form    a   congregation.     It  is  per- 
fectly immaterial  to  them  (further  than  as 
they  may  wifli  the  prevalence  of  what  they 
molt  approve)  whether  or    no  there  exiit 
any  other  fuch  fociety  in  the  world.     Re- 
ligion is  to  them  merely  a  perfonal  affair, 
unconnected   with     other   interefts ;    and 
their  only  motive  for  afibciating  in  it  at 
all,  is  that  they  find  a  duty  or  advantage 
in  Social  worfhip,  which  compels  them  to 
adopt  means  for  its  performance.     They 
have  nothing  to  do  either  with  attack  or 
defence,  unlefs  the  grand  and   univerfal 
principle  of  the  right  of  private  judgment 
N2 


104  LETTER 

in  matters  of  religion  be  called-in  quefti'oru 
In  fupport  of  that,  they  make  a  common 
caufe  with  all  other  feparatifts,  and  fo  far 
they  act  as  fecfaries  :  but  otherwife,  they 
have  nothing  more  to  difcufs  with  the 
efbHifliment,  than  with  any  detached  ib- 
ciety  like  themfeives.  As  their  purpofe  is 
fimple,  they  find  no  reafon  to  (land  apart 
from  the  reft  of  the  world  in  any  thing 
elfe.  Having,  indeed,  avowed  a  ferious 
attachment  to  religion,  by  exerting  an  ac- 
tive choice  in  the  mode,  they  are  fenfible 
that  immoralities  would  appear  peculiarly 
inconfiftent  in  them,  and  that  in  things  of 
a  dubious  nature,  it  is  more  becoming  their 
characters  to  incline  to  ftriclnefs  than 
laxity. 

It  will  probably  be  objected  to  this 
idea  of  the  formation  of  religious  focieties, 
that  they  would  foo.n  want  zeal  fufficient 
to  keep  them  together.  But,  in  the  firil 
place,  what  in  this  cafe  is  the  dejideratum  ? 
— not  to  increafe  the  numbers  of  blind 
followers  of  a  name  or  a  doctrine,  but  to 
provide  for  the  wants  of  thofe  to  whom 
foeial  religion  is  really  an  object  of  fe- 
lection.  To  fuch  perfons,  differences 
r-c     abfolutely   eflential,   will   yet  appear 


ON    TtELIGtOUS    SOCIETIES.  lor; 

oi  Tome  importance ;  and  as  even  in 
things  indifferent,  we  conceive  it  an  efli- 
mable  privilege  to  exert  a  free  choice,  it 
would  feem  not  likely  that  this  liberty 
fhould  be  undervalued,  in  a  matter  a! 
leafl  connected  with  a  thing  of  fupreme 
confequence.  Then,  in  fact,  many  of 
thofe  doctrines  upon  which  feparate  con- 
gregations are  formed,  are  in  a  high  de- 
gree important,  relating  to  nothing  lefs 
than  the  object  of  divine  uorfhip,  and  the 
conditions  of  acceptance  in  a  future  Hate. 
And  while  ellabliihed  churches,  and  even 
ancient  feels,  remain  flationary,  fome  of 
thefe  doctrines  are  making  an  accelerated 
progrefs.  While,  therefore,  religion  con- 
tinues to  exert  an  influence  over  the  mind, 
and  the  fpirit  of  liberty  retains  its  activity, 
it  can  fcarcely  be  fuppofed,  that  a  fuccef- 
iion  of  voluntary  focieties  will  ceafe  to  be 
formed,  adapted  to  the  varying  or  pro- 
greflive  (late  of  religious  opinion,  although 
they  are  unfupported  by  the  peculiar  man- 
ners or  intereits  of  a  feci.  Peculiarity  of 
manners,  though  it  undoubtedly  tends  to 
draw  clofer  the  bands  of  union  in  a  fociety, 
yet  offers  an  additional  obflaclc  to  thofe 
who  may  be  inclined  to  enter  it,  and  dif- 


106  LETTER       XI. 

pofes  many  the  more  readily  to  quit  it.  It 
has  likevvife  the  bad  effed  of  diverting 
the  attention  from  points  of  real  import- 
ance, to  trifles ;  and  of  narrowing  the 
heart,  by  carrying  into  life  diftin&ions 
only  meant  for  the  temple.  It  is  always 
better  to  refer  our  actions  to  one  great  and 
decifive  principle,  than  to  many  fubordi- 
nate  ones.  The  exercife  of  private  judg- 
ment in  matters  of  religion,  may  well  ftand 
upon  its  own  fingle  ground,  without  call- 
ing in  the  aid  of  petty  concomitants. 

The  caufe  of  feparation  has  gained  one 
confiderable  advantage  in  the  prefent  age, 
which  is,  that  we  fcarcely  hear  any  more 
of  the  Jin  of  Jchifm,  with  the  apprehenfion 
of  which  timid  confciences  were  formerly 
difturbed.  Long  ago,  indeed,  John  Hales 
faid,  tn  his  Tratf  on  Schifrn,  (never  pub- 
limed,  however,  in  his  works,  till  1721) 
4t  wherefoever  falfe  or  fufpe&ed  opinions 
are  made  a  piece  of  the  church-liturgy,  he 
that  feparates  is  not  the  Jcbijmatic"  The 
impoflibility  of  fubftantiating  this  charge 
againft  a  party  fp  as  that  it  might  not 
eafily  be  retorted,  and  the  futility  of  every 
fcheme  propofed  for  comprehension,  as  it  was 
called,  feem  to  have  made  the  minds  of 


ON    RELIGIOUS    SOCIETIES.  loj 

men  eafy  in  this  particular.  Still  further, 
the  fuppofed  fin  itfelf  has,  in  the  opinion  of 
many,  been  expunged  from  the  catalogue ; 
for  experience  has  {hewn,  that  the  caufe 
of  religion,  far  from  being  weakened  by 
thefe  divifions  and  fubdivifions  of  its  pro- 
feftbrs,  has  acquired  additional  ftrength. 
The  more  it  is  made  a  man's  perfonal 
choice,  the  greater  intereft  he  takes  in  it ; 
and  as  focieties  differ  from  each  other  ra- 
ther about  modes  and  articles,  than  about 
grounds  and  fandions,  the  main  authority 
of  religion  is  not  fhaken  by  fuch  differ- 
ences. The  ancient  comparifon  of  reli- 
gious inftrudion  to  grain  frudifying  in  the 
earth,  will  alfo  apply  in  this  refped,  that, 
like  the  roots  of  corn,  the  fpirit  of  reli* 
gion  becomes  more  produtfive  by  divifion. 

You  may  think  it  an  omifiion  that  I 
have  faid  nothing  of  the  political  influence 
of  feds,  and  of  the  lofs  that  would  fuftain 
by  breaking  them  into  unconneded  focie- 
ties. I  had  not  forgot  this  topic,  but  I 
well  knew  that  the  lefs  is  faid  concerning 
it,  the  better. 

With  refped  to  the  perfon  appointed 
by  fuch  a  fociety  to  fuperintend  the  bufi- 
mk  of  public  worfhip,  and  perhaps  of 


3o8  L   E  T  T   E  R       XI* 

private  inftruction,  I  do  not  perceive  that 
he  has  any  other  general  line  of  conduct 
to  purfue  than,  by  all  proper  means,  to 
render  himfelf  as  acceptable  as  poflible 
to    his    cor  Their    ilyle    of 

manners,  if  of  itfelf  unobjectionable, 
mud  be  his.  They  will  naturally  expect 
to  find  in  him  the  affectionate  and  ufeful 
friend,  the  agreeable  and  inffructive  com- 
panion ;  but  he  will  be  under  no  neceffity, 
in  order  to  gain  their  favour,  to  employ 
arts  or  compliances  derogatory  from  a 
manly  character.  His  office  and  flation 
have  nothing  in  them  which  can  infpire 
difrefpect.  If  he  is  dependent,  fo  are  all 
who  live  by  the  public  ;  but  I  fcarcely 
ever  knew  an  inftance  in  which  the  ad- 
vantages of  education  and  office  did  not 
enable  a  perfon  in  that  fituation  to  aflame 
a  liberal  independence  of  behaviour,  with- 
in the  limits  of  prudence  and  good  temper. 
He  need  not  renounce  the  world,  though, 
like  every  man  of  wifdom  and  virtue,  he 
renounces  its  follies  and  dimpations.  He 
muff,  in  order  to  be  refpectable,  fuffain 
his  character  with  confiftency  and  deco- 
rum-, and  it  is  a  character  which  demands 
2  peculiar  facrifices ;  but  for  thofe  he 


ON    RELIGIOUS    SOCIETIES.  log 

is  amply  indemnified,  by  the  opportunity 
of  riling  above  the  common  level,  and 
taking  his  (ration  with  the  graver  and 
weightier  part  of  fociety.  He  is  not  pre- 
cluded from  aiming  at  perfonal  influence 
and  refped  from  the  community  at  large, 
by  a  dignified  fuavity  of  manners,  and 
ufeful  and  ornamental  accomplishments. 
Were  not  thefe  objects  within  his  reach,  I 
mould,  as  a  father,  be  very  unwilling  that 
a  fon  whom  I  elleem  fhould  engage  in  the 
profeflion. 


arewe 


111 


O 


(       »o      ) 


LETTER    XII. 


ON    REPLY    IN    CONTROVERSY. 


How  far  it  is  advifable  to  anfwer  the 
charges  of  an  antagonift  in  controverfy,   is 
a  queition  you  a(k,  with  reference  to  the 
actual  conduct  of  a  diftinguiihed    perfon 
whom   we  both   highly  efteem.      I  {hall 
begin  my  reply  with  a  ftory  out  of  the 
life  of  Melancthon  by  Camerarius.    That 
great  and  amiable  man  was  the  fubjecl  of 
much  virulent  abufe,   as   might  naturally 
be  expected  to  fall  upon  one,   who  in  the 
interefting  bufmefs   of    reform,    purfued 
a  middle   courfe,    almoft   equally   remote 
from  the  extremes  on  either  part.     When 
ftrongly  urged  by  his  moft  intimate  friends 
to  publifh  a  vindication  of  his  conduct, 
"  I    will  anfwer    you,    (faid  he)  as  my 
little  daughter  did  me.     She  had  one  day 
been  fent  on   an  errand,  and  ftaid  much 
longer  than  fhe  ought  to  have  done.     I 


REPLY    IN    CONTROVERSY.  Ill 

met  her  in  the  flreet,  and  faid  to  her, 
Now,  child !  what  will  you  fay  to  your 
mother  when  fhe  chides  you  for  {laying  fo 
long? — I  will  fay  nothing,  replied  the 
poor  child." 

What  is  the  inference  from  this  flory  ? 
Is  it  that  Melancthon  had  really  nothing 
to  reply  to  the  charges  brought  againfl 
him  ?  The  probability  is,  that  he  was 
confcious  of  being  able  to  fay  nothing 
which  would  produce  any  effect  on  minds 
predifpofed  againft  him;  for  the  matter  of 
accufation  was  that  prudent  conciliatory 
behaviour  which  he  did  in  reality  approve 
and  praclife,  and  which  he  neither  could 
nor  would  difavow  ;  and  therefore  a  reply 
would  have  been  of  no  avail.  And  this 
conhderation,  in  my  opinion,  leads  to  the 
true  rule  of  conducl  in  thefe  cafes. 

A  writer  publifhes  his  fentiments  on  a 
controverted  point  in  politics  or  theology, 
and  fupports  them  by  the  bell  arguments 
in  his  power.  A  hot-headed  champion 
rifes  on  the  oppolite  fide,  who  in  print 
ftyles  his  notions  impious  or  feditious,  his 
arguments  trivial  and  abfurd,  infults  his 
perfon,  vilifies  his  fenfe  and  learning,  and 
02 


112  LETTER       XII. 

imputes  to  him  the  worfl  motives.     What 
matter  is  there  in  all  this  for   an   anfwer  ? 
The  writer  does  not   mean  to  difavow  his 
opinions  becaufe  an  oponent  thinks  ill  of 
them.     His  arguments  are  not  refuted  by 
the  abufe  of  one  who,  perhaps,  from  inca- 
pacity or  ignorance   is    utterly  unable  to 
comprehend    them.        Of   his    fenfe    and 
learning  he  has  conflituted  the  public  his 
judges  by  the  act  of  publication,  and  to 
their  judgment  at  large  he  appeals.     His 
motives  can  only   be  known   to  his  own 
heart ;  and  afferting  them  to  be  good,  will 
no  more  convince  his   enemies,    than  the 
contrary  affertion  has  convinced  his  friends. 
If,  therefore,  he  has  obtained  from  nature 
or  exercife  a  due  command  of  temper,  he 
will  preferve  a  dignified  hlence,  till  an  at- 
tack of  fome  other  kind  fummons  him  to 
the  field.     Now  this  other  kind  mull  be 
characterized  by  one  of  thefe  two  circum- 
Hances — the  production  of  new  and  forci- 
ble arguments  againft  him,  or  a  mifrepre- 
fentation   in   matter  -of  fad   of  a  nature 
materially  to  injure  his  character. 

With  re  1  peel  to  the  firfl  inllance,  a  dif- 
putant  who  honeflly  argues  for  the  fake  of 
truth  alone,  will  either  freely  retracl  what 


REPLY    IN    CONTROVERSY.  U3 

he  cannot  maintain,  or  will  ftudy  for  new 
arguments  to  fupport  what  he  Hill  be- 
lieves, notwithstanding  the  plaufibility  of 
the  objections  raifed  againll  his  mode  of 
proving  it.  But  in  each  of  thefe  cafes  a 
reply  is  his  duty ;  for  filence  can  proceed 
only  from  difingenuoufnefs,  or  from  indo- 
lence. The  public  whom  he  addrelTed 
have  a  right  to  all  the  fatisfaction  he  can 
give  them ;  and  the  caufe  at  ifYue  muft 
not  be  left  to  float  in  indecifion,  if  it  be  in 
his  power  to  contribute  further  to  its  de- 
termination. 

Falfehood  or  mifreprefentation  is  a  per- 
gonal reafon  for  a  reply,  and  often  a  very 
cogent  one.  Though  the  laws  afmme  in 
fome  points  the  guardianfhip  of  a  perfon's 
reputation,  yet  the  modes  in  which  it  may 
be  afTailed  are  fo  numerous  and  indefinite, 
that  he  mult  in  great  meafure  rely  on  his 
own  protection  ; — and  furely  few  things 
better  deferve  protecting.  The  fages  in 
the  healing  art  have  laid  it  down  as  a 
maxim,  lt  Nullum  capitis  vulnus  con- 
temnendum."  The  fage  in  human  life 
might  with  equal  truth  euablifh  the  por- 
tion, That  no  attack  on  moral  character 
is  to  be  flighted.       Though  proceeding 


2  14  LETTER       XII. 

from  the  moft  infamous  and  defpi cable  of 
mankind,  they  are  never  without  fome 
power  of  hurting ;  and  filence  under 
them  will  pafs,  in  the  eftimation  of  a  great 
part  of  the  world,  for  an  acknowledg- 
ment of  guilt.  If,  therefore,  an  unprin- 
cipled antagonift  attempts  to  render  a  man 
odious,  either  by  reprefenting  him  as  fay- 
ing what  he  never  has  faid,  or  by  invent- 
ing perfonal  (lander  and  calumny  againft 
him,  it  will  generally  be  as  prudent  as  it 
is  equitable,  to  cite  him  to  the  bar  of  the 
public,  expofe  his  diihonelt  arts  and  ma- 
lignant intentions,  and  with  ftrong  hand 
drag  him  forth  like  Cacus  from  the  midft 
of  his  fire  and  fmoke,  to  light  and  punifh- 
ment. 

Nor  does  this  advice  concern  the  writer 
alone.  Any  man  upon  whofe  character 
an  unjuft  attack  is  made,  will  do  right  to 
vindicate  himfelf,  provided  the  charge 
relate  to  a  matter  of  fact  which  can  be 
brought  to  a  decifive  iffue.  That  abufe, 
indeed,  which  is  levelled  at  individuals 
merely  as  belonging  to  a  particular  pro- 
feiTion  or  party,  and  is  only  an  inference 
from  fuch  a  fact,  merits  little  notice,  how- 
ever it  may  bear  upon  moral   character. 


REPLY    IN    CONTROVERSY.  ll£ 

Its  effect  depends  upon  a  general  opinion 
which  an  individual  cannot  alter.  Large 
bodies  of  men  thus  cenfured,  may  think  it 
worth  their  while  by  public  declarations  of 
their  principles  to  give  the  lie  to  fuch 
charges ;  but  for  a  fingle  member  to  do 
fo,  is  always  either  unneceffary  or  ufelefs. 
He  muff  in  thoie  points  ftand  or  fall  with 
his  party.  But  accufations  which  mark 
out  the  individual  as  fuch,  are  of  a  differ- 
ent nature.  They  tend  as  much  to  in- 
jure a  perfon  with  his  friends,  as  to  en- 
courage the  malice  of  his  enemies ;  and 
he  muff  not  expecl  to  be  fup parted 
againff  them  upon  public  grounds.  We 
live  in  an  age,  in  which  the  virulence  of 
party-contention,  and  the  facility  with 
which  (landers  are  propagated,  render  it 
equally  neceffary  to  be  circumfpecl  in  ou? 
a&ions,  and  fpirited  in  felf-defence,  The 
public  is  indeed  juft  and  generous  when 
convinced ;  but  calumnies  are  readily 
adopted,  and  the  refutation  of  them  al- 
ways cofts  fome  exertion.  A  man  fail*  in, 
the  duty  he  owes  to  fociety,  as  well  as  to 
himfelf,  who,  through  indolence  or  apathy, 
fuffers  malignity  and  falfehood  to  triumph 
in  the  accompliuSment.  of  their  purpofe. 


316  LETTER       XII. 

They  fhould  be  oppofed  boldly,  fpeedily, 
and  openly.  Every  flep  in  the  conteft 
fhould  be  clear  and  decilive ;  and  princi- 
pals fhould  always  be  aimed  at,  however 
hedged  in  by  forms  and  confequence. 
Every  man  capable  of  doing  a  fecret  in- 
juftice  is  a  coward.  He  will  fhuffle,  equi- 
vocate, and  fhrink;  but  if  held  by  the 
firm  grafp  of  truth  and  courage,  he  cannot 
efcape  an  ignominious  expofure. 

Farewell  I 


{     H7     ) 


LETTER    XIII. 


ON      CLASSIFICATION     IN    NATURAL    HISTORY 


I  am  very  glad  to  find,  my  dear  foil* 
that  you  receive  fo  much  pleafure  from 
the  purfuit  of  Natural  Hiftory.  No 
pleafures  are  more  pure,  more  unmixed* 
more  eafily  procurable  ;  and  th  e  ftudy  of 
nature  is  in  many  refpects  peculiarly 
fuited  to  your  profemon  and  fituation. 
You  do  right  firft  to  follow  it  in  a  practi- 
cal way,  making  yourfelf  acquainted  with 
the  appearances  of  objects,  and  afcertain- 
ing  their  names  and  places  in  a  fyftem* 
But  it  will  be  ufeful  occafionally  to  inter- 
pofe  reflections  on  the  ftudy  in  general,  and 
to  take  extended  views  of  that  economy  of 
nature  which  is  one  of  the  noblefl  fub- 
jecls  of  contemplation.  In  order  to  lead 
you  into  fuch  a  train  of  thought,  I  mail 
communicate  to  you  fome  remarks  oa 
'  P 


Il8  LETTER       Xlir, 

the  claflification  and  arrangement  of  na^ 
Sural  fubftances,  which  I  wrote  down  at  a 
time  when  thefe  topics  occupied  a  good 
deal  of  my  attention. 

When  a  perfon  begins  to  examine  the 
productions  of  nature  around  him,  he  will 
firit  be  ftruck  with  a  perception  of  their 
infinite  number  and  boundlefs  variety. 
The  whole  will  feem  to  him  a  vail  alTem- 
blage  of  objects,  grouped  into  all  poflible 
kinds  of  difcordant  forms,,  and  presenting 
on  every  fide  an  inextricable  wildemefs  of 
diveriity.  But  on  a  more  leifurely  and 
attentive  furvey,  he  will  prefently  defcry 
in  this  mafs  of  things,  numerous  refem- 
blances  and  conformities  between  particu- 
lar objeclsT  which  will  difpofe  him,  by  ar 
procefs  to  which  he  is  fcarcely  confcious, 
to  feparate  them  into  claiTes,  and  make 
a  kind  of  arrangement  of  them  in  his 
mind.  This  firit  rude  clallificatioii  will  be 
formed  upon  fome  of  the  moil  remark- 
able exterior  qualities  of  the  fubje&s ;  and 
will  only  mark  out  fome  of  the  greater 
divifions,  frill  leaving  undifcriminated  the, 
minuter  differences  which  diitinguifh  one 
kindred  form  of  being  from  another. 
Thus,   the.  three   kingdoms  (as  p  they   arc 


ON   CLASSIFICATION.  11$ 

termed)  of  nature,  will  foon  be  feparated  ; 
the  mineral  being  characterized  from  its 
inert  and  unchanging  quality ;  the  vegetable 
from  its  growth  and  fucceflive  changes ; 
the  animal  from  the  fuperadded  faculty  of 
voluntary  motion.  In  each  of  thefe  will 
prefentiy  be  difcerned  fubordinate  divi- 
lions ;  as  in  the  animal  creation,  the  feve- 
ral  clarTes  of  quadrupeds,  birds,  nines,  and 
infects ;  in  quadrupeds,  the  diitinclions  of 
great,  fmall,  mild,  fetocious,  herbivorous, 
and  carnivorous.  But  this  mode  of  pro- 
ceeding will  for  a  long  time  furniih  only 
fuch  general  ideas  as  fall  very  fhort  of  the 
purpofes  of  methodical  arrangement ;  and 
it  will  not  happen  till  after  accurate  re- 
searches have  been  made  into  the  more 
intimate  ftruclure  of  bodies,  that  marks 
are  difcovered  fufficiently  numerous  and 
diftincl  to  identify  genus  and  fpecies. 

But  there  is  another  procefs  of  arrange- 
ment, equally  natural,  that  comes  at  one 
itep  near  to  the  individual.  In  the  com- 
mon courfe  of  life,  every  perfon  becomes 
familiarly  acquainted  with  certain  forms  of 
nature,  fo  as  to  have  the  idea  of  them 
ftrongly  impreffed  upon  the  fenfes.  A 
P2 


120  LETTER       Xlir. 

thing  of  this  kind,  therefore,  ferves  him 
as  a  ftandard,  to  which  he  can  refer  a  va- 
riety of  other  obje&s  in  the  way  of  com- 
parifon,  as  being  like  it  in  fome  points, 
and  unlike  it  in  others.  Thus,  when  a 
man  habitually  acquainted  with  dogs  firft 
fees  a  fox,  he  will  conceive  of  it  as  a  fmall 
dog,  with  a  (harper  nofe  and  more  bufhy 
tail  than  ordinary  ;  and  by  thefe  marks  he 
will  defcribe  it  to  another  man,  who,  from 
his  previous  knowledge  of  the  dog,  will 
probably  recognize  the  fox  whenever  he 
meets  with  it.  In  like  manner,  the  tyger 
and  leopard  are  faid  to  be  animals  of  the 
cat-kind,  and  thence  a  tolerable  idea  of 
their  form  and  manners  is  obtained  be- 
fore feeing  them.  And  combinations 
may  be  made  of  parts  refembling  thofe  of 
objects  already  known,  by  which  a  new 
production  may  be  characterized.  Thus 
we  lay  that  a  plant  has  the  leaf  of  an  oak, 
the  flower  of  a  rofe,  the  fruit  of  a  plumb, 
the  fcent  of  ajeffamine,  &c.  The  de- 
fects of  this  method  are,  that,  in  the  firft 
place,  it  does  not  extend  far  enough, 
the  fpecies  with  which  perfons  are  com- 
monly acquainted  being  too  few  to  ferve  as. 
archetypes  of  any  considerable  portion  of 


ON    CLASSIFICATION.  121 

the  works  of  nature  ;  and  fecondly,  that 
it  is  inaccurate,  fmce  degrees  of  refem- 
blance  admit  of  every  poffible  gradation, 
and  ftrike  different  obfervers  differently. 
It  is,  however,  on  an  union  of  the  two 
principles  of  arrangement  above  menti- 
oned, that  all  fyftems  of  claflification  have 
been  founded. 

But  before  we  proceed  further,  it  will 
be  proper  to  take  into  confideration  the 
ufes  and  purpofes  of  arrangement.  Thefe 
are  principally  two ;  one,  to  aid  the  me- 
mory by  laying  up  the  ftores  of  know- 
ledge in  a  regular  manner,  and  applying 
precife  determinate  names  to  every  fmgle 
object,  fo  methodized,  that  they  may  be 
found  when  wanted  ;  the  other,  to  afford 
a  fummary  connected  view  of  the  natural 
refemblances  and  differences  between  ob- 
ecls  in  their  mod  important  qualities,  ex- 
ibiting  the  relations  between  caufes  and 
effects,  and  thofe  gradations  of  being 
which  conltitute  the  great  chain  or  fcale  of 
exiftence.  It  is  the  latter  only  on  which 
the  philofophy  of  natural  hiftory  depends. 
The  former  is  a  mere  matter  of  nomen- 
clature, neceffary,  indeed,  but  as  a  means, 
not  an  end. 


t 


122  LETTER       XIII. 

The  perfection  of  arrangement  is  when 
thefe  two  purpofes  are  united;  that  is,  when 
the  moil  important  circumflances  in  the 
ftruclure  or  economy  of  natural  produc- 
du&ions,  are  felecled  as  the  characters  on 
which  their  diviiions  and  fubdivifions  are 
founded ;  and  this  conftitutes  what  is 
called  a  natural  method.  When  this  is 
rendered  complete,  we  can,  not  only,  on 
examining  the  real  fubject,  readily  deter- 
mine its  place  in  the  fyftem,  and  confe- 
quently  its  name  ;  but  e  converfo,  on  being 
told  the  name  and  fyftematic  place  of  the 
fubject,  we  can  infer  the  molt  elTential  cir- 
cuftances  of  its  nature  and  hiflory.  To 
give  an  inftance  of  this  from  Mr.  Pen- 
nant's Sy nop/is  of  Birds : — If  I  find  an  un- 
known bird,  with  webbed  feet,  a  flat  bill, 
and  a  broad  fringed  tongue,  I  trace  it  at 
once  by  thefe  marks  to  the  genus  Duck  in 
his  fyftem,  and  by  carefully  examining  the 
defcriptions  of  the  feveral  fpecies  in  this: 
genus,  I  can  difcover  its  name,  and  learn 
all  that  naturalifts  have  laid  about  it.  On 
the  other  hand,  if  I  am  told  that  a  bird  fo 
named  is  of  the  Duck  genus,  I  am  lure, 
firft,  that  it  is  a  water-fowl ;  next,  from 
ins  webbed  feet,  that  it  is  a  fwimmer  ;  and 


ON    CLASSIFICATION.  12j 

then,  from  the  form  of  its  bill  and  tongue, 
that  it.  lives  either  upon  foft  vegetables,  or 
upon  fuch  animal  food  as  it  can  fcoop  up, 
and  feparate  at  leifure,  but  not  upon  living 
active  prey.  Here  I  have  a  delightful 
perception  of  that  adaptation  of  means  to 
ends  which  affords  fo  convincing  a  proof  of 
the  agency  of  a  deligning  cauie  in  the 
wonderful  plan  of  creation;  and  I  alfo 
difcern  one  link  of  that  vaft  chain  which 
binds  together  the  whole  economy  of  na- 
ture. 

But  it  is  not  in  every  part  of  creatior* 
that  this  perfection  of  arrangement  can  be 
obtained.  The  fpecies  in  fome  dalles  are 
fo  extremely  numerous,  their  general  pro- 
perties are  fo  uniform,  and  their  peculiar 
ones  fo  various  and  minute,  that  we  cannot 
find  characters  in  them  fufficient  to  eflablifk 
difcriminations  at  the  fame  time  precife. 
and  important.  This  is  particularly  the 
cafe  with  the  vegetable  kingdom  ;  and  the 
difficulty  of  the  tafk  has  given  rife  to  nu- 
merous attempts  in  their  claflification, 
upon  different  principles.  What  is  abfo- 
lutely  neceflary  to  trie  purpofes  of  utility, 
h  the  eflablifhment  of  divifions  and  fubdi- 
tifions,  diftinguifhed  by  marks  at  the  fame 


124  UTTER       XIII. 

time  liable,  obvious,  and  numerous ; 
otherwife  the  votary  of  this  pleafing  ftudy 
may  range  over  the  world  of  vegetation, 
like  Eneas  in  fearch  of  his  golden  branch, 
without  being  able,  unlefs  heaven-directed, 
to  identify  any  one  object  of  which  he  may 
have  heard  or  read.  This,  however,  can 
only  be  erTe&ed  by  an  artificial  fyftem,  that 
is,  one,  the  diftinctions  of  which  are  taken 
from  circumftances  felecled  for  the  pur- 
pofe  of  arrangement  only,  and  not  on  ac- 
count of  their  relative  importance.  The 
thing  wanted  is  a  natural  alphabet,  com- 
pofed  of  a  number  of  letters,  unmeaning, 
perhaps,  of  themfelves,  but  capable,  by  a 
vaft  variety  of  combinations,  of  diftin- 
guiftiing  with  perfect  precifion  all  the 
tribes,  families,  and  individuals  of  that  im- 
menfe  nation  from  each  other. 

All  modern  botanifts  agree,  that  it  is  in 
the  parts  of  fructification  that  diflinctive 
marks  for  the  purpofe  of  arrangement  are 
to  be  found  in  vegetables.  The  great 
number  and  variety  of  thefe  afford,  by 
means  of  combination,  an  almoft  inex- 
hauftible  fund  of  differences,  accommo- 
dated to  the  feveral  orders  of  divilion  and 
fubdivifton  ou  which  accuracy  of  method 


ON    CLASSIFICATION.  1  25 

depends.  It  is  upon  thefe,  you  know, 
that  Linnaeus  his  founded  a  fyftem,  which 
its  merit  has  brought  into  general  ufe  ;  and 
which  would  want  little  of  abfolute  perfec- 
tion, as  an  artificial  one,  if  it  were  as  uni- 
form in  its  application,  as  it  is  regular  in  its 
principles.  But  it  labours  under  a  defecl 
from  which  no  artificial  arrangement  can 
free  itfelf ;  which  is,  that  it  frequently  thwarts 
that  diftribution  into  families,  which  na- 
ture has  pointed  out  by  refemblances  fo 
ftrong,  as  to  render  feparation  a  violence 
fcarcely  tolerable  ;  fo  that  either  his  prin- 
ciple muft  be  facrificed,  or  a  very  obvious 
deformity  incurred  by  adhering  to  it.  In 
thefe  emergencies,  the  conduct  of  the  au- 
thor has  not  been  uniform  ;  fometimes  he 
has  flood  firm  ;  oftener  he  has  yielded. 
In  the  latter  cafe,  fpecies,  in  order  to  keep 
to  their  genera,  are  placed  under  claffes 
and  orders  to  which  they  do  not  belong ; 
fo  that  if  a  learner  unfortunately  lights 
upon  them  before  he  has  acquired  a  know- 
ledge of  the  genus,  he  may  hunt  through 
the  whole  fyftem  before  he  can  in ve frigate 
them.  It  is  as  if,  in  a  dictionary,  a  word 
beginning    with   the  letter    A.   fhould   be 

a 


i  20*  LETTER       XIH. 

placed  along  with  others  of  fimilar  fignifH 
cation  under  D.  The  caufe  of  this  defecl 
is,  manifestly,  that  Nature  has  not  attached 
fo  much  importance  to  the  circumftances 
on  which  his  primary  and  fecondary  divi- 
sions are  founded,  as  to  make  them  uni- 
form in  productions  formed  in  general  af- 
ter the  fame  model.  And,  indeed,  through 
the  whole  of  the  Linnaean  claflifications,  in 
all  the  kingdoms  of  nature,  there  runs  the 
fame  attention  to  minute  circumftances  in 
queft  of  diftinclive  marks,  which  throws 
an  air  of  littlenefs  over  his  fyftems,  and 
gives  them  the  praife  rather  of  ingeni- 
ous invention,,  than  of  coincidence  with 
the  fublime  plans  of  creation.  You  will, 
I  hope,  know  how  to  prize  them  for  their 
utility  in  enabling  you  to  acquire  the 
[  knowledge  of  nature,  without  miftaking 
an  acquaintance  with  them  for  that  know- 
ledge. 

Farewell  I 


(     1*7     ) 


LETTER    XIV. 


on  buffon's  natural  history. 


DEAR    SON, 

In  my  former  letter  on  the  fubjed  of 
Natural  Hiftory,  I  (lightly  charaderifed 
the  great  Majier  of  Arrangement.  At  pre- 
fent  I  mean  to  communicate  to  you  a  few 
reflections  on  a  writer  who  holds  an  equally 
high  rank  in  a  diredly  oppofite  mode  of 
treating  thefe  fubjeds,  the  illuftrious  Count 
de  Buffon. 

The  works  of  this  naturalift  and  philofo- 
pher,  unrivalled  in  defcriptive  eloquence, 
and  filled  with  curious  and  exad  details  of 
matter  of  fad,  exhibit  alfo  continual  marks 
of  that  difpofition  to  theorize  which  is  al- 
mofr  infeparable  from  genius.  Not  fatif- 
fled  with  being  the  fecretary,  he  aflfumes 
the  office  of  legijlator  of  nature ;  and  fre- 

a* 


128  LETTER        XIV. 

quently  quits  the  humbler  talk  of  painting 
things  as  they  are,  for  the  loftier  purpofe 
of  fpeculating  how  they  have  been  and  may 
be.  One  leading  principle  runs  through 
all  his  difcuffions  of  this  kind  ; — a  difpo- 
fition  to  reduce  as  much  as  poflible  the 
number  of '/pedes,  by  fuppofing  perpetual 
varieties  generated  by  climate,  domeftica- 
tion,  and  other  incidental  caufes.  He  is 
ever  in  fearch  of  the  original  Jlock  from 
whence  a  number  of  kindred  fpecies  have 
proceeded,  and  largely  indulges  himfelf 
in  fuppofitions  refpecling  the  means  by 
which  all  the  (hades  and  ramifications  of 
difference  have  been  produced,  often  high- 
ly ingenious,  but  often,  too,  in  my  opi- 
nion,  perfectly  gratuitous  and  delufory. 

This  deduction  of  numerous  prefent 
forms  of  nature  from  a  few  original  ar- 
chetypes, does  not  appear  to  me,  even  a 
p-iori,  a  very  probable  hypothelis.  All 
the  parts  of  nature  have  a  mutual  rela- 
tion to,  and  dependence  on,  each  other. 
If  it  be  admitted  that  a  laige  trad  of  coun- 
try has  long  exifted  in  the  form  of  folid 
land,  it  muft  have  been  clothed  with  vegeta^ 
bles  accommodated  to  each  foil  and  fituation. 
Thefe  muft  have  afforded  food  and  fhelter 


buffon's  natural  historv.         129 

to  the  infett  race,  with  which  vegetables  are 
every  where  found  to  fwarm.  Their  mul- 
tiplication to  a  noxious  excefs,  mult  have 
been  checked  by  the  numerous  birds  which 
derive  their  chief  fubfiftence  from  them. 
Quadrupeds,  though  lefs  clofely  connected 
with  the  other  claries  of  creation,  yet  mutt 
be  fuppofed  to  have  an  appropriate  place, 
and  may  reafonably  be  imagined  to  have 
exifted  wherever  their  exigence  was  con- 
fonant  to  the  general  arrangement  of 
things.  We  view,  without  furprife,  in 
regions  very  diftant  from  our  own,  all 
this  general  order  of  nature  exi  fling,  yet 
made  up  of  fpecies  fo  different  from  ours 
in  the  different  claffes,  that  we  muft  necef- 
farily  refer  them  to  a  diflin61  origin.  Is  it 
a  greater  wonder  that  other  fpecies  mould 
be  formed  upon  a  model  nearly  refem- 
bling  ours  ?  After  having  gazed  with 
admiration  at  the  Paradife-birds  in  an 
Afiatic  foreft,  or  the  Toucans  in  an  Ame- 
rican one,  and  recognifed  the  creative 
power  that  originally  placed  them  there, 
{hall  we  perplex  ourfelves  with  endeavour- 
ing to  account  how  the  thrufhes,  pigeons, 
and  finches,  could  get  there,  and  by  what 
means,  with  a  general  fimilitude  to  thofe 


230  LETTER       XIV. 

tribes  as  they  exifl.  with  us,  the  variations 
which  difcriminate  them  mould  have  been 
produced  ? 

A  decided  purpofe  of  what  we  call  Na- 
ture, is  to  give  birth  to  variety ;  and,  ac- 
cording to  a  remark  of  Buffon  himfelf, 
whatever  can  exift  feems  a&ually  to  exift. 
She  fports  a  thoufand  ways  in  colour, 
(hape,  and  proportion,  keeping  only 
within  the  bounds  neceflary  to  fecure  the 
great  purpofes  of  continuing  and  propagat- 
ing exiftence.  Why  then  mould  migra-r 
tion  be  called  in  to  frame  an  imagined  ge- 
nealogy of  kindred  tribes,  which  in  one 
country  as  well  as  in  another,  ferve  to  fill 
up  the  great  plan  of  being?  In  the  ve- 
getable kingdom,  where,  as  migration 
cannot  have  taken  place,  except  in  culti- 
vated plants,  all  variations  in  others  mull 
have  been  original,  fcarcelyan  inftance  can 
be  found  of  perfectly  fimilar  fpecies  ex- 
lfting  in  the  two  great  continents,  even 
where  the  generical  refemblances  are  moll 
{hiking.  But  fo  prepolfeffed  is  Buffon 
againft  the  notion  of  the  original  forma- 
tion of  nearly  refembling  fpecies  of  ani- 
mals  in  diftant  parts    of  the   world,  that 

'  re  he  cannot  deny  their  pvefent  exifl* 


BUFFONS  NATURAL  HISTORY.  1  3! 

ence,  and  is  unable  to  conceive  a  natural 
migration,  he  frequently  invents  the  moil 
unlikely  fuppofition  of  their  conveyance  by 
men  ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  he  as  fre- 
quently rejeds,  without  reafon  or  autho- 
rity, the  ocular  teftimony  of  travellers  to 
their  being  found  in  parts  of  the  world 
where  he  does  not  choofe  to  admit  them. 

Of  the  means  by  which  changes  in  ori- 
ginal fpecies  may  be  fuppofed  to  be  effect- 
ed, the  principal  are  climate  and  domefti ca- 
tion. That  both  of  thefe  are  capable  of 
producing  confiderable  effects,  we  can 
fcarcely  doubt ;  and  carefully  to  enquire 
into  thefe,  and  from  a  feries  of  eftablifhed 
fads  to  deduce  a  fcientlfic  theory  of  this 
important  part  of  the  animal  economy, 
would  be  a  mod  valuable  addition  to  phy- 
fiology.  But  to  employ  them  in  the  ex- 
planation of  perplexing  fads,  at  random 
and  without  any  proper  clue  of  known 
caufes  and  effeds,  is  rather  to  propagate 
error  than  true  fcience.  Yet  this  M.  de 
Buffon  perpetually  does,  and  more  efpe- 
cially  with  regard  to  domeftication.  Whe- 
ther by  this  vague  term  he  under  Hands 
fuch  a  perfed  fubjedion  and  fubferviency 
to  man  as  we  fee  in  the  horfe,  and  the  dog ; 


132  LETTER       XIV; 

or  fuch  a  lax  connexion  with  him  as  fufcr* 
fifts  in  the  cat  and  the  pigeon,  there  is 
fcarcely  a  change  in  form  and  difpofition 
which  he  does  not  afcribe  to  it,  as  hypo- 
thelis  may  require.  It  can  ennoble  or  de- 
bafe,  enlarge  or  diminifh,  ftrengthen  or 
enfeeble,  juftas  fuits  the  prefent  occafion- 
It  has  given  the  camel  his  bunches  and 
callofities,  and  has  made  the  horfe  fleek 
and  fine-limbed.  It  has  created  all  the 
varieties  of  fhape,  iize,  and  inftincl,  in 
the  family  of  dogs,  from  the  lap-dog  to 
the  maftiff,  from  the  greyhound  to  the 
fpaniel.  It  operates  even  upon  the  free 
winged  tribes;  and  contaminates  by  a 
touch  thofe  who  only  approach  .it  at  a 
diftance.  To  deny  the  great  erTec~l  of 
fuiting  and  contraning  breeds,  of  feeding, 
houfing,  and  exercihng  the  animals  which 
man  fele&s  for  his  particular  ufe,  would  be 
to  betray  grofs  ignorance  or  prejudice. 
But,  on  the  other  hand,  to  extend  the  ope- 
ration of  known  caufes  beyond  all  bounds 
of  proof  or  analogy,  and  to  apply  words 
for  the  purpofe  of  argument,  where  the 
things  are  totally  diflimilar,  is  to  level  all 
diilinclion  between  imagination  and  rea- 
fon. 


BUFF0NS  NATURAL  HISTORY^  l^ 

if  domeftication  be  ufed  as  a  general 
Iterm  to  exprefs  every  aiTociation  between 
man  and  animals,  it  is  obvious  that  to  rea- 
fon  with  arty  accuracy  on  its  effects,  it  muft 
be  divided  into  different  ffages.  The  firfl 
it  that  in  which  they  are  merely  fed  un- 
confined ;  man  repaying  himfelf  for  this 
Care  by  the  opportunity  of  making  prize 
of  them  more  eaflly  when  he  wants  them. 
Wild  rabbits  and  J)heafants  are  in  this 
degree  of  dependence  on  man.  It  is  but 
a  little  {rep  beyond  this  to  provide  them 
with  a  detached  lodging,  as  pigeons  in  a 
dove-cote  ;  or  even  to  confine  them  within 
bounds,  provided  an  ample  range  be  al- 
lowed them,  as  deer  in  a  park.  In  all 
thefe  cafes  no  other  changes  in  them  can 
be  reafonably  fuppofed,  than  fome  dimi- 
nution of  their  natural  fagacity  and  active 
powers,  owing  to  the  greater  eafe  the/ 
find  in  fubfifting,  and  perhaps,  an  im- 
provement in  fize  and  bulk  in  the  indivi- 
duals from  their  being  better  fed.  A  far- 
ther ftage  is  that  of  animals  kept  in  the 
fold  and  the  yard,  whofe  whole  fubfiflcnce 
and  protection  depend  on  man,  and  who 
live  with  him  and  with  their  fellow  -Tub- 
R 


^34  LETTER       XlV, 

jecls  in  a  flate  of  fociety,  but  without  con- 
flraint.  This  is  the  condition  of  domenic 
fowl,  and  fwine.  Among  thefe,  varieties  of 
fize  and  colour  begin  to  fhevv  themfelves  ; 
tvhich,  however,  are  probably  owing  not 
limply  to  their  domeftication,  but  to  the 
contrivance  of  men,  in  felecling  peculiar 
individuals,  or  importing  foreign  varie- 
ties, for  the  purpofe  of  propagating  the 
breed ;  for  without  this  care,  an  unifor- 
mity foon  comes  to  prevail,  with  a  fet  of 
qualities,  derived  rather  from  climate, 
than  from  other  circumftances. 

The  mod  complete  Itage  of  domeftica- 
t'ion  is  that  of  dogs  and  of  beafts  of  bur- 
then. Thefe  are  trained  up  to  be  the 
fervants  or  companions  of  man  ;  and  their 
natural  qualities  are  all  direcled  to  this  pur- 
pofe. They  live  a  life  of  perpetual  conftraint. 
To  inftinct  is  fubftituted  habit ;  to  native 
wants  and  delires  the  will  of  a  mafter. 
Their  food,  their  lodging,  their  exercife, 
the  propagation  of  their  fpecies,  are  all 
iubjecl  to  artificial  rules.  By  thefe,  varia- 
tions in  iize,  fhape,  colour  and  faculties  of 
all  kinds*  are  carried  to  their  utmoft  ex- 
tent. But  in  order  to  keep  up  to  any 
given  ilandard,  a  continued  attention  and 


BUFFON S  NATURAL  HISTORY.  I35 

.(uperintendance  is  neceflary  ;  for  all  thefe 
acquired  variations  are  merely  individual, 
or  at  lead  temporary,  and  the  fpecies  has 
a  perpetual  tendency  to  relapfe  to  its  na- 
tural model.  From  this  principle,  which 
I  believe  is  univerfal,  it  appears  an  error 
to  aflign  a  remote  domeflication  of  proge- 
nitors, as  the  caufe  of  fubfifting  varieties 
in  wild  animals ;  as  it  is  llkewife  probably 
an  error  to  impute  any  confiderable  alter- 
ations to  the  very  imperfect  domefticity  ir> 
the  ftages  fir  ft  defcribed. 

No  writer  in  Natural  Hiftory  dwells  fo 
much  as  Buffon  on  the  manners,  and 
what  may  be  called  the  moral  character  of 
animals.  Thefe  fpeculations  are  extremely 
curious  and  entertaining;  though  you  will 
readily  conceive  that  in  a  writer  of  a  warm 
imagination  and  lively  feelings  they  will 
be  very  apt  to  become  fanciful  and  delu- 
fory.  Thofe  of  Buffon  will  probably 
often  appear  to  you  to  deferve  this  cha- 
racter; though  on  the  other  hand  it  mufl 
be  acknowledged  in  their  favour,  that  his 
perfonal  obfervations  have  in  many  in- 
fiances  been  conducted  with  the  mcft  pa- 
tient and  minute  attentions  ;  and  certainly 
R2 


13$  t-BTTEIl       XIV, 

very  few  writers  have  pofleffed  equal  ad- 
vantages with  himfelf.  He  warns  his 
readers  againft  falling  into  the  mifiake  of 
attributing  to  animals  the  paflions  and  fen- 
timents  of  men ;  yet  I  cannot  fay,  that 
he  always  avoids  it  himfelf.  On  the  whole, 
BufTon  is  an  author  whom  all  may  read 
with  plea  hire,  but  whom  none  but  the  in- 
formed and  judicious  can  read  with  un- 
mixed improvement. 

Farewell  \ 


(     *37     ) 


LETTER    XV, 


ON    ORNAMENTAL    GARDENING* 


DEAR  SON, 

In  one  of  my  former  letters  I  hinted 
a  future  application  of  the  confiderations 
on  nature  and  art  and  the  love  of  novelty, 
lo  another  of  the  fine  arts ;  and  I  mean 
now  to  perform  my  promife  in  fome  re- 
marks on  Ornamental  Gardening. 

There  is  nothing  in  which  the  Englifli 
tafte  more  triumphs,  than  in  the  change  it 
has  effected  in  the  whole  fyflem  of  this  art  \ 
a  change  which  for  more  than  half  a  cen- 
tury has  been  gradually  taking  place,  and 
may  now  be  faid  in  this  country  to  be  com- 
plete. This  confifts  in  entirely  banifhing 
almoft  every  thing  which  conftituted  the 
artifice  and  contrivance  of  ancient  garden- 
ing, and  in  their  Head  fubftituting  a  plan 
pf  embellifhe4  .nature,   imitative  of    the 


1$$  LETTER       XV. 

fccnery  of  real  landfcape,  and  of  which 
the  fundamental  law  is  to  exclude  every 
appearance  of  regularity.  You  have 
feen,  I  doubt  not  with  pleafure  and  admi- 
ration, fome  of  the  fineft  creations  of  this 
kind.  To  you  they  had  all  the  graces  of 
novelty ;  and  viewing  them  as  a  tranfient 
fpeclator,  without  the  comparifon  of  a  dif- 
ferent model  in  your  mind,  you  have  per- 
haps implicitly  admitted  the  principles  on 
which  the  new  fyflem  has  obtained  fo  uni- 
verfal  a  preference  to  the  old.  Yet,  on 
refle&ion,  you  will  readily  perceive  the 
great  fhare  faftnon  muft  have  had  in  fuch 
a  general  alteration  of  tafte  ;  and  you  may 
be  inclined  to  examine  the  matter  a  little 
more  clofely,  not  for  the  purpofe  of -know-* 
ing  whether  you  ought  to  have  been 
pleafed  with  what  you  fawT — for  we  ought 
always  to  be  pleafed  when  we  innocently 
can — but  whether  fomething  very  diffe^ 
rent  might  not  pleafe  as  much,  or  more. 
Let  us  then  enter  upon  a  difquiiition  of 
this  kind. 

The  efTential  idea  of  a  garden,  as  it  has 
exifted  in  all  ages  and  countries,  is  that  of 
a  place,  where,  by  the  aid  of  culture,  ve-,. 
getablfi  productions   may  fee  reared,  mors 


Ornamental  gardening.  igg 

excellent  in  kind,  and  more  pleating  in 
diftribution,  than  the  ordinary  growth  of 
nature.  Even  in  the  moft  genial  climates, 
it  was  found  that  flowers  and  fruits  might: 
be  much  improved  by  care  and  fele&ion  ; 
that  a  number  of  the  fineft  plants,  greatly 
beyond  the  natural  variety  of  any  diftricl, 
might  be  accumulated  in  one  fpot,  and 
cleared  of  all  mixture  with  the  noxious  and 
unfightly;  while  by  fome  artifice  of  ar- 
rangement, they  might  be  prefented  with 
more  advantage  to  the  eye,  and  formed 
into  pleafing  fpe&acles  of  novelty.  In 
hot  countries,  the  delicious  luxury  of 
cooling  {hades  and  perpetual  verdure 
might  be  enjoyed  to  far  greater  perfection 
in  regular  walks  beneath  trees  felecled  for 
beauty  and  fragrance,  and  bordered  by 
rills  which  the  hand  of  art  had  directed, 
than  in  the  wild  foreft,  entangled  with 
brakes,  and  rendered  impaffible  by  mo- 
rales. In  cold  and  changeable  climates, 
the  flicker  of  walls  and^hedges  was  abfo- 
lutely  requifite  for  the  prefervation  of  de- 
licate vegetables,  and  during  a  confider- 
a.hle  part  of  the  year  was  agreeable  to  the- 
perfon  who  wiflied  to  fuxvey  their  beau- 
ties, 


i±&  letter     xv» 

No  pleafure  derived  from  art  has  beeri 
fo  univerfal  as  that  taken  in  gardens; 
This,  in  the  .firft  place,  was  owing  to  the 
union  of  fimple  gratifications  they  af- 
forded ;  not  fewer  than  four  of  the  fenfes, 
the  tafte,  fmell,  light,  and  feeling,  being 
rrtoft  agreeably  affecled  by  horticulture; 
And  if  the  refinements  of  ornamental  gar- 
dening have  excluded  the  objecls  of  the 
firfl  of  thefe,  it  has  been  only  to  enjoy  the 
reft  in  a  more  exquifite  degree.  For  a 
garden,  therefore,  to  be  fragrant,  gay,  and 
refrefhing,  is  as  efTential,  as  for  a  houfe  to 
afford  fhelter  againft  the  inclemency  of 
the  feafons.  But  the  combination  of  dif- 
ferent pleafing  forms  into  groups  and 
compofitions  of  novelty  and  beauty,  is 
what  has  given  the  art  of  gardening  a 
place  among  the  finer  inventions  of  ge- 
nius. And  in  judging  of  the  different 
ftyles  of  ornamental  gardening,  we  are  to 
endeavour  to  difcover  the  principles  befl 
adapted  to  produce  happy  effecls  of  this 
kind. 

Formerly,  the  pleafure  garden  was  al- 
ways confidered  as  an  appendage  to  the 
houfe ;  its  plan  and  decorations  were 
therefore  a  fubordinate  branch  of  architect 


fo&foAMENTAL    GARDEN!..  1  ^\ 

itite.  That  it  mould  have  been  fo  re- 
garded, was  very  natural.  To  enjoy  the 
pleafures  of  a  garden  to  advantage,  it  was 
necelTary  that  they  mould  be  near.  Its 
fragrance  was  received  into  the  apartments 
of  the  houfe;  its  walks  invited  even  the  in- 
dolent to  faunter  in  the  fun  or  repofe  under 
the  (hade ;  and  its  gay  forms  and  colours 
fealled  the  eye  with  variety  of  beauty 
within  the  fphere  of  diltincl  virion.  Its 
flights  of  fleps,  walls,  porticoes,  and  ter- 
races, gave  the  architect  an  opportunity  of 
gradually  letting  down  the  maffy  height 
of  his  main  edifice,  and  (hading  off  Hone 
into  verdure.  That  fomething  of  this 
kind  is  wanted  by  the  eye,  will,  I  think, 
be  acknowledged  by  every  unprejudiced 
obferver  at  the  firit  view  of  a  modern 
manfion,  riling  unfuftained  from  the 
:nidft  of  a  naked  lawn.  Thus  regularity 
was  a  fundamental  idea  in  planning  a  gar- 
den; and  inftead  of  any  endeavour  to 
make  it  referable  a  natural  fcene,  e very- 
contrivance  was  ufed  to  produce  artificial 
effects  with  the  materials  of  nature.  I  can 
fcarcely  admit,  however,  that  the  leading 
principle  of  the  art  was, 

To  form  with  verdure  what  the  bunder  form'd 

With  ftone  ; 

s 


Ijfi  LETTER       XV. 

for  although  trees  cut  into  fhapes,  and 
hedges  fafhioned  like  walls,  have  occa- 
sionally been  introduced  as  objects  of  vul- 
gar admiration,  yet  better  tafle  has  rather 
aimed  at  producing  novelties  more  confo- 
nant  to  the  effential  character  of  garden 
fcenery.  Of  fome  of  thefe,  nature  her- 
felf  may  be  faid  to  have  afforded  the  rude 
fketch.  Thus,  a  woodbine  running  from 
tree  to  tree,  and  encircling  the  tops  of 
bufhes,  formed  a  fort  of  flowering  canopy, 
which  agreeably  fheltered  the  wanderer 
from  fun  and  fhower.  Art  caught  the 
idea,  and  fafhioned  an  arbour  or  t  re  ill  age, 
the  regular  frame-work  of  which  directed 
the  rambling  fprays  to  weave  an  impene- 
trable covering,  at  the  fame  time  com- 
modious and  free.  Thus,  the  velvet  car- 
peting of  the  turfy  down,  pleafmg  to  the 
eye  and  loft  to  the  feet,  was  transferred  to 
the  "  dry  fmooth-lhav  en  green.''  The 
advantageous  elevation  of  the  rifing  bank, 
was  copied  in  a  terrace.  The  fhady  walk 
between  lofty  trees  in  a  natural  wood,  was 
improved  into  the  ftraight  clear  avenue  / 
and  the  cafual  arcades  of  intertwined 
thickets,  fuggefted  the  clofe  walk  over- 
arched by   bending   hazels.       Walks,    of 


ORNAMENTAL    GARDENING.  I43 

gravel  or  grafs,  laid  down  by  line  and  rule, 
interfering  flower-bed  and  fhrubberies  of 
regular  and  perhaps  fanciful  forms,  not 
only  correfponded  with  the  general  regu- 
larity of  the  outline  by  which  the  garden 
was  bounded,  but  amufed  by  perfpeclive 
effects.  Water  fpouted  up  in  a  jet  d'eau 
was  a  novelty,  and  certainly  a  very  elegant 
one.  The  bafon  and  long  canal  gave  new 
ideas  of  liquid  extenfion.  Ornamental 
building,  ftatues,  urns,  and  vafes,  inter- 
mixed with  fcenes  of  verdure  and  folitude, 
pleafed  by  the  contrail:  they  afforded  to 
iimilar  works  of  art  in  the  ftreets  and 
fquares  of  a  city.  A  beautiful  plant 
{hooting  from  the  midft  of  rich  carving, 
over  which  it  threw  its  eafy  foliage,  had 
furely  as  good  a  right  to  admiration,  as  the 
imitation  of  it  in  a  Corinthian  capital. 

Thefe,  and  a  variety  of  other  inven- 
tions which  compofed  the  enchanted  gar- 
dens of  France  and  Italy,  produced  in  a 
high  degree  the  general  refult  of  furprife. 
The  garden  was  as  much  a  creation  of 
art,  as  the  palace  to  which  it  belonged  ; 
and  in  both,  after  the  purpofes  of  utility 
were  anfwered  (by  which,  in  the  garden, 
S  2 


144  LETTER       XV\ 

I  mean   the    fimple   gratifications   of  the 
fenies  afforded  by  the  cultivation  of  ve- 
getables) the  remainder  was  addreifed  to 
the   love  of  novelty.       And   as    it    is   the 
character iftic  of  nature   in  all  her  works, 
to  fhun  regularity,   fo  when  art  attempted 
to  produce  novelty,   lcgularity  of  difpofi- 
tion  was  the  firft  thing  thought   of.      The 
fame   difference   that   exills    between  the 
rocky  cave  or  woodland  (hed,  and  an  edi- 
fice of  flone  or  timber,   was  conceived  to. 
diftinguifh  the  flowery  meadow  or  thicket, 
from  the  cultured  garden.     This  idea  was 
fo  obvious,  that  I  think   it  wants  no  de- 
fence ;  but  we  are  now  to  conhder  whether 
the  late  refinement  of  banifhing  all  regu- 
1  irity,   and  employing  art  only  to  produce 
a  copy  of  beautiful   nature,   be   capable  of 
yielding,  on  the  whole,  a  greater  degree  of 
pleafure. 

As  an  objection  to  the  old  ftyle  it  has 
been  made  a  kind  of  univerfal  maxim, 
4*  That  the  appearance  of  art  always  dif- 
gulYs ;"  but  I  do  not  difcover  upon  what 
principle  this  is  founded.  The  footfleps 
of  art  indicate  invention,  induftry,  order 
— they  are  the  footileps  of  man.  In  moft 
works  of  the  artift  they   ea?inct  be   con- 


ORNAMENTAL    GARDENING.  1  45 

cealed  ;  and  the  very  endeavour,  to  conceal 
them  is  fach  an  exertion  of  art  as  mud 
difcover  itfelf.  If,  then,  it  is  intended  by 
the  contrivances  of  modern  gardening  to 
delude  the  fpedlator  with  an  idea  that  the 
fcenes  he  beholds  are  really  natural,  it  is 
certain  that  the  attempt  will  not  fucceed. 
Nor,  indeed,  can  the  owner  of  the  codiy 
and  laboured  plan  ever  wifli  it  to  fucceed. 
The  pride  of  art  and  of  opulence  will 
not  fuffer  this  wifh.  Yet  many  of  the 
rules  of  tafte  feen  to  have  no  other  foun- 
dation than  to  fofter  fuch  an  illuiion.  When 
the  Poet  of  the  Engliflj  Garden  thinks  it  ne- 
ceffary  to  give  a  long  receipt  in  verfe  how 
to  make  green  paint,  for  the  purpofe  of 
rendering  inviiible  the  rails  which  are  to 
feparate  the  pafhire  from  the  lawn,  we 
may  be  permitted  to  regret  that  either  the 
poet  or  the  painter  fhould  employ  their 
art  on  an  objecl  fo  trivial.  I  am  fenfible, 
indeed,  that  in  this  cafe  pride  finds  a  grati- 
fication from  an  artifice  which  is  to  deceive 
the  fpeclator  into  the  belief,  that  the  ex- 
tent of  its  porTeflions  are  only  terminat- 
ed by  the  diilant  horizon.  This  is  with 
many  the  true  interpretation  of  the  pre- 


I46  LETTER       XV. 

cept,  to  "  call  in  the  country" — to  make 
it  pafs  for  their  own. 

But  we  will  quit  the  deceptions  of  mo- 
dern gardening,  and  fairly  compare  it  with 
the  ancient,  with  refpeel  to  the  beauties 
they  are  both  capable  of  producing.  The 
free  graces  of  nature,  it  is  faid,  and  with 
juftice,  yield  a  perpetual  fund  of  variety  • 
while  the  regularity  of  art  cannot  avoid  a 
conftant  tendency  .to  a  tirefome  uniformity. 
Whatever,  therefore,  there  be  of  novelty 
m  the  lingular  fcenery  of  an  artificial  gar- 
den, it  is  loon  exhaufted ;  whereas  the  in- 
finite diver fity  of  a  natural  landfcape  pre- 
sents an  inexhauftible  ftore  of  new  forms. 
It  is  added,  that  the  forms  of  nature  are 
intrinfically  more  beautiful  than  thofe  of 
art;  that  the  flowing  ftrokes  of  the  for- 
mer, compared  with  the  ftraight  lines  and 
Qiarp  angles  of  the  latter,  conititute  the 
eflfential  diftinction  between  grace  and 
fUffnefs.  Even  moral  ideas  are  brought 
in  to  decide  the  preference  ;  and  a  tafte 
nature    is  faid  to  be   equivalent  to  a 

e  of  liberty  and  truth ;  while  the  vo- 
s  of  art  are  pronounced  flaves  to  for- 

lityand  conftfaSnt:     As  I  think  there 


ORNAMENTAL    GARDENING.  147 

are  few  more  impaflioned  admirers  of  na- 
ture in  all  her  forms  than  myfelf,  I  will 
venture  to  refer  to  my  own  feelings  on  the 
occafion.  Thefe  inform  me,  that  the 
pleafures  to  be  derived  from  the  various 
feenery  of  a  fine  country,  are,  indeed, 
fuperior  to  any  which  art  can  beftow. 
Architecture,  painting,  gardening,  all  fink 
to  toys  before  them.  But  the  companion 
is  not  between  a  landfcape  and  a  garden, 
but  between  one  ftyle  of  gardening  and 
another ;  and  conceiving  myfelf  to  refide 
in  the  midft  of  natural  beauties,  which  I 
may  not  at  all  times  be  able  or  difpofed  to 
enjoy,  I  confider  what  fupplemental  plea- 
fures can  belt  fill  up  the  vacancy.  In  this 
view,  a  garden  connected  with  the  hcufe, 
lying  directly  beneath  the  eye,  prefenting 
forms  novel  from  their  regularity,  and 
rich  in  artificial  ornament,  offering  choice* 
of  fun  and  (hade,  of  warmth  and  coolnefst 
as  the  feafon  may  require,  and  gradually 
fubfiding  into  the  uncultured  wildnefs  of 
nature — does  in  reality  feem  preferable  to 
an  imitation  of  thofe  very  fcenes  with  which, 
I  fuppofe  myfelf  already  fatiated.  This 
imitation,  if  it  be  in.  a  large  ftyle,  is  in* 


I4B  LETTER      XV* 

deed  the  thing  itfelf.  To  roll  a  river 
through  a  new  channel,  to  fpread  out  a 
lake,  raife  mountains,  fcoop  out  vales,  and 
plant  forefts,  is  to  create  a  country— & 
noble  effort,  certainly,  in  thofe  who  have 
compafs  and  fortune  iufficient  for  the  pur- 
pofe,  and  who  inhabit  a  diftricl:  fcantily 
provided  with  natural  charms.  But  this, 
in  my  idea,  is  a  flight  beyond  gardening ; 
and  if  attempted  in  the  limits  of  a  few 
acres,  produces  only  laboured  littlenefs. 
The  tumbling  rills  of  the  Leafowes  were 
fuch  miniature  cafcades,  that  they  ap- 
peared more  like  ftage  fcenery  than  ob- 
jects of  romantic  nature.  And  the  level 
lazvn  formed  out  of  three  or  four  pafturp 
fields,  and  dotted  with  clumps  of  half  a 
dozen  dwarfifh  trees,  while  it  is  perfectly 
efficacious  in  communicating  to  a  houfe 
the  cold  comfortlefs  fenfation  of  unfhel- 
tered  nakednefs,  can  excite  no  image  of 
the  grandeur  of  a  wide-expanded  plain. 

I  mould  perhaps  venture  to  fuggeft  an 
union  of  fome  kind  between  the  two 
taftes,  were  I  not  deterred  by  the  deci- 
five  fentence  of  the  Poet,  who  pronounces 
them  abfolutely   irreconcileable ;   and  in 


ORNAMENTAL    GARDENING*  1  ^g 

«confequence,  though  with  manifeft  reluc- 
tance, dooms  to  deftruction  the  venerable 
avenue  of  oaks  which  may  have  heard  the 
{trains. 

Of  Sidney's,  nay,  perchance,  of  Suny's  reed. 
Heav'ns !  muft  they  fall  ?  They  muft,  their  doom 
is  paft. 

And  why? — Becaufe  nature  abhors  a 
flraight  line  even  more  than  {he  formerly 
did  a  vacuum.  And  this,  too,  is  the  dictate 
of  the  bard  who  has  tranfplanted  the  un- 
natural Greek  chorus  into  the  Englifh 
drama ! 

With  fome  indignation,  but  more  plea- 
fure,  I  turn  to  another  Poet,  and  emi- 
nently a  poet  of  nature  too,  who  has  confe- 
crated  this  noble  production  of  united  art 
and  nature  in  verfes  which,  I  dare  predicl, 
will  outlive  the  fentence  of  its  deftru&ion. 

How  airy  and  how  light  the  graceful  arch, 
Yet  awful  as  the  confec rated  roof 
Re-echoing  pious  anthems !  while  beneath, 
The  checquer'd  earth  feems  reftlefs  as  a  flood 
Brufh'd  by  the  wind.     So  fportive  is  the  light 
Shot  thro'  the  boughs,  it  dances  as  they  dance- 


T 


t5<*  LETTER      XV. 

Shadow  and  funfiiine  intermingling  quick, 
A«d  dark'ning  and  enlightening,  as  the  leaves 
Flay  wanton,  every  moment,  every  fpot. 

Cowper'sTas&- 

I  cannot  conclude  my  long  letter  mors 
frappily;  fo 

Adieu ! 


<     *5»     ) 


LETTER    XVI. 

cn  pope's  essay  on  criticism. 

DEAR    SON, 

Though  it  is  for  the  moft  part  a  poor 
employment  to  endeavour  to  point  out 
faults  in  a  performance  of  reputation,  and 
to  diminifh  the  admiration  with  which  it 
has  ufually  been  regarded,  yet  as  far  as  in- 
culating  the  true  principles  of  literature 
is  of  any  confequence,  it  is  important 
occafionally  to  difcufs  the  merits  of  thofe 
works  on  which  the  public  tafte  is  chiefly 
formed,  And  this  is  peculiarly  juft  and 
proper  with  refpecl  to  fuch  pieces  as  are 
themfelves  critical,  and  written  with  the 
profeffed  intention  of  eftabliihing  rules  for 
compohng  and  judging.  Among  works  of 
this  kind,  few  are  more  diftinguiflied  than 
Pope's  Effay  on  Criticism.  If  the  circum- 
ftance  of  its  being  written  in  verfe  have,  on 
the  one  hand,  impaired  its  authority,  on  the 
other,  it  has  ferved  to  make  it  more  read, 
and  to  fix  its  maxims  more  thoroughly  in 
the  memory.  In  fact,  few  pieces  are  more 
T   2 


I52  LETTER       XVI. 

referred  to  in  the  way  of  quotation  ;  and 
after  the  higvi  praifes  it  has  received  from 
fuch  names  as  Warburton,  Johnfon,  and 
Warton,  its  influence  upon  the  opinions 
of  writers  and  readers  cannot  be  fuppofed 
inconhderable.  Such  commendations,  in- 
deed, render  it  a  hazardous  tafk  to  call 
in  queflion  its  merits.  But  my  experience 
of  men  and  books  has  not  ferved  to  aug- 
ment my  confidence  in  great  names ;  and 
if  I  can  give  good  reafons  for  the  objec- 
tions I  fhall  make,  I  fear  not  that  you  will 
regard  my  attempts  as  prefumptuous. 

Dr.  Warburton,  at  the  clofe  of  his 
commentary  on  this  Effay,  ftrongly  calls 
it  to  the  reader's  recollection,  that  its  au- 
thor had  not  attained  his  twentieth  year. 
This  view  of  it  as  a  juvenile  performance 
is  a  very  proper  one.  It  may  juflly  ex- 
cite our  admiration  of  the  early  difplay  of 
poetical  powers  it  exhibits,  and  mould 
jugged  every  indulgence  of  candour  to 
its  defects;  but  it  mould  make  us  hefrate 
in  attributing  to  it  that  comprehenfion  of 
view  and  accuracy  of  conception,  which 
were  by  no  means  the  moft  flriking  quali- 
ties of  the  author  in  the  full  maturity  of 
his   powers.     It  does  not   belong   to  my 


POPE  S  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM.  I53 

purpofe  to  point  out  the  imperfections 
with  which  it  abounds  as  a  mere  poetical 
compofition.  What  I  have  to  do  with, 
are  the  falfe  thoughts  and  vicious  princi- 
ples, which  render  it  a  very  unfafe  guide 
in  matters  of  tafte,  notwithfbnding  the 
large  admixture  of  maxims  founded  on 
good  fenfe,  and  exprefled  with  the  utmoft 
brilliancy  of  language. 

With  refpect  to  the  method  of  the  piece, 
as  far  as  it  really  pofiefies  a  method  not 
forcibly  held  together  by  the  commenta- 
tor's chain,  it  may  be  affirmed,  that  the 
arrangement  of  matter  is  limple  and  natu- 
ral, but  not  very  clofely  adhered  to.  Many 
of  the  rules  and  remarks  are  brought  in 
with  little  connexion  with  what  preceded, 
and  apparently  might  be  tranfpofed  with- 
out injury.  And  after  all  Warburton  has 
done  for  Pope,  and  his  difciple  for  Ho- 
race, it  is  certain,  that  the  reader  of  each 
poet  will  fcarcely,  without  a  previous 
clue,  become  fenfible  of  more  than  a  fet  of 
detached  maxims,  connected  only  by  the 
general  fubjecl. 

Pope  begins  with  an  affertion  which, 
if  true,  would  render  his  work  of  very  con- 


1^4  LETTER       XVI. 

fined  utility,  namely,  that  critics,  as  well  aff 
poets,  mud  be  born  fuch. 
Both  mufl  alike  from  hcav'n  derive  their  light, 
Thefe  born  to  judge,  as  well  as  thofe  to  write. 

And  he  further  limits  the  profeflion   of 
criticifm,  by   requiring  that  both   talents 
ihould  be  united  in  the  fame  perfon. 
Let  fuch  teach  others  who  themfelves  excel, 
And  cenfure  freely  who  have  written  well. 
But  furely  both  thefe  are  very  falfe  no- 
tions.;  for   nothing   feems   to  be  more  a 
matter  of  acquirement  than  the   habit  of 
judging  accurately  on  works  of  art ;  and 
this  habit  appears  from  innumerable  in- 
ilances  to   be  perfectly  diftinfi  from  the 
faculty  of  practifmg  the  arts.     Indeed  they 
have  much  oftener  exifted  feparate  than 
combined. 

Thus  in  the  foul  while  Memory  prevails, 
The  folid  power  of  Underftanding  fails ; 
Where  beams  of  warm  Imagination  play, 
The  Memory's  foft  figures  melt  away. 
The  beauty  of  imagery  in  thefe  lines, 
fhould  not  make    us    blind   to  the  want 
of  juftnefs  in  the  thought.     To  reprefent 
ilrength  of  memory  as  incompatible  with 
folidity  of  underftanding,   is   fo  obvioufly 
contrary  to  facl,  that  I  prefume  the  author 
had  in  his  eye  only  the  cafe  of  extraordi- 


POPES  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM.  Jcj^ 

nary  memory  for  names,  dates,  and  things 
which  offer  no  ideas  to  the  mind ;    which 
has,  indeed,  been  often  difplayed  in  great 
ferfedion  by  mere  idiots.     For,  it  is  dif- 
ficult to  conceive  how  the  faculty  of  judg- 
ment, which  confifts  in  the  comparifon  of 
different   ideas,    can  at   all   be  exercifedl 
without  the  power  of  ftoring  up   ideas  in 
the  mind,  and  calling  them  forth  when  re^ 
quired.     From  the   fecond  couplet,    ap- 
parently meant  to  be  the  converfe  of  the 
firfl,  one  would  fuppofe  that  he  confidered 
(he  underflanding  and  the  imagination  as 
the  fame  faculty,   elfe  the  counterpart  is 
defective.     Further,   fo  far  is  it  from  be- 
ing true,  that  imagination  obliterates  the 
figures  of  memory,  that  the  circumftance 
which  caufes  a  thing  to  be  remembered  is 
principally  its  being  aflbciated  with  other 
ideas  by  the  agency   of  the   imagination* 
If  the  poet  only  meant,  that  thofe  ideas 
about  which  imagination  is  occupied,   are 
apt  to  exclude  ideas  of  a  different  kind,  the 
remark  is  true,  but  it  mould  have  been  dif- 
•   ferently  exprefled. 

One  Science  only  will  one  Genius  fit. 
This  maxim  is  as  falfe   as   it   is  dif- 
couraging,  and  derogatory  from  the  pow-> 


I56  LETTER       XVI. 

ers  of  the  human  mind.  It  is,  perhaps* 
generally  true,  that  the  genius  is  exclu- 
lively  fitted  for  attaining  excellence  in 
one  of  the  great  claiTes  of  mental  acqui- 
sitions, as  fcience,  art,  invention,  &c. 
but  he  who  can  make  himfelf  mailer  of 
one  fcience  properly  fo  called,  may  com- 
monly with  equal  application  attain  any 
other. 

Firft  follow  Nature. 

This  trite  rule  can  be  of  little  ufe  with- 
out being  opened  and  exemplified.  It  is 
perfectly  obvious,  that  in  all  the  arts 
which  are  imitative  or  defcriptive  of  na- 
ture, (he  muft  be  the  archetype ;  but  the 
proper  manner  of  fludying  nature,  and 
transferring  its  images  to  each  particular 
fpecies  of  the  works  of  art,  varioufly  com- 
bined, contrafted,  and  perhaps  height- 
ened and  altered,  is  the  great  defideratum 
on  which  their  true  theory  and  practice  is 
founded.  We  fhall  foon  fee,  that  Pope 
cuts  fhort  all  difcuflions  of  this  kind,  by 
reducing  his  general  precept  to  the  fingle 
practical  direction,  Imitate  the  ancients. 
When  firft  young  Maro,  &c. 

That  Virgil,   not   only   in  his  general 
plan,  but  in  moil  of  the  fubordinate  parts, 


POPE'S  ESSAY  ON  CRlTICfSM.  I57 

was  a  clofe  copyift  of  Homer,  is  iindeni-* 
able,  whatever  be  thought  of  the  fuppoii- 
tion  that  he  let  out  with  a  detign  of  draw- 
ing from  the  fources  of  nature,  and  was 
diverted  from  it  by  the  diftovery  that 
"  Nature  and  Homer  were  the  fame." 
The  modern  idolatry  of  Shakefpear  has 
elevated  him  to  the  fame  degree  of  au- 
thority among  us;  and  critics  have  not 
been  wanting,  who  have  confidently  drawn 
from  his  characters  the  proofs  and  illuf- 
tration  of  their  theories  on  the  human 
mind.  But  what  can  be  more  unworthy 
of  the  true  critic  and  philofopher,  than 
inch  an  implicit  reliance  on  any  man,  how 
exalted  fcever  his  genius,  efpecially  on 
thofe  who  lived  in  the  infancy  of  their  art  ? 
If  an  epic  poem  be  a  reprefe elation 
of  nature  in  a  courfe  of  heroic  action* 
it  muft  be  fufceptible  of  as  much  variety 
as  Nature  herfelf ;  and  furely  it  is  more  de- 
ferrable that  a  poet  of  original  genius  fliould 
give  full  fcope  to  his  inventive  powers, 
under  the  reftriclions  of  fuch  laws  only  as 
are  founded  on  nature,  than  that  he  ihould 
fetter  himfelf  with  rules  derived  from  the 
practice   of  a  predeceflbr.     When   Pops 

v 


1$8  LETTER       XVI. 

praifes  the  ancient  rules  for  cornpofition  on 
the  ground  that  they  were  "  difcover'd  not 
devis'd,"  and  were  only  "  Nature  me- 
thodized," he  gives  a  juit  notion  of  what 
they  ought  to  be.  But  when  he  fuppofes 
Virgil  to  have  been  properly  "  checked  in 
his  bold  defign  of  drawing  from  Nature's 
fountains,"  and  in  confequence  to  have 
confined  his  work  within  rules  as  Uriel 

As  if  the  Stagyrite  o'erlook'd  each  line, 
how  can   he   avoid   the   force  of  his   own 
ridicule,  where  a  little  further  in  this  very 
piece,  he  laughs  at  Dennis  for 

Concluding  ail  were  defperate  fots  and  fools 
Who  durft  depart  from  Ariftotle's  rules  ? 

Such  are  the  inconfiflencies  of  a  writer 
who  fometimes  utters  notions  derived  from 
reading  and  education,  fometimes  the  fug- 
geftioris  of  native  good  fenfe  ! 

Some  precepts  yet  no  beauties  can  declare, 
For  there's  a  happinefs  as  well  as  care. 

If  the  meaning  of  the  writer  here  is 

onlv,  that  rules  will   not   fiand  inltead  of 

genius,  and  that  a  poet's  greater!  beauties 

are    rather   the  refult    of  a  happy  flow  of 

fancy,  than  the  careful  purfuit  of  precepts, 

the  truth  of  the  remark  is  indifputable. 

But  if,  applying  to  the  critic,  he  means  to 


FOPE  S  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM.  \$g 

tell  him  that  certain  poetical  beauties  are 
irreducible  to  rational  principles,  and  only 
to  be  referred  to  luck,  chance,  a  brave  dif- 
ord  r,  and  fuch  other  unmeaning  notions, 
we  may  aiTert  that  he  was  indeed  young  in 
the  philofophy  of  criticifm.  He  appears, 
however,  to  have  been  in  the  right  train, 
when  he  fays,  that  where  the  lucky  licence 
anfwers  its  purpofe, 

that  Licence  is  a  rule ; 

but  he  confufes  aii  again  by  the  often- 
quoted  maxim, 

Great  Wits  may  fometimes  glorioufly  offend, 
And  rife  to  faults  true  Critics  dare  not  mend; 

for  he  ought  rather  to  have  concluded, 
that  fuch  fiiccefsful  deviations  from  com- 
mon practice  are  not  faults ;  and  that  the 
true  critic  fhould  er  lis  rules  to  the 

comprehenlibn  >  though  uri- 

ufual,  excellencies.  :So  much,  indeed, 
does  he  perplex  himfelf  between  venera- 
tion for  ancient  rules,  and  regard  to  . 
practice  of  eminent  poets,  that  the  whole 
paffage  is  full  of  contradictions,  which 
coil  his  commentator  much  fruitlefs  pains 
to  reconcile,  and  oblige  him  to  take  (bel- 
ter in  a  companion  between  the  fublimi- 
U2 


lOO  LETTER       XVI. 

ties  of  poetry,  and  the  myfteries  of  reli- 
gion, lt  fome  of  which  are  above*  reafon* 
and  fome  contrary  to  it." 

Pope  goes  on  to  obferve,  that  though 
the  ancients  may  make  thus  free  with  their 
own  rules,  yet  that  modern5  writers  mould 
copy  this  indulgence  with  caution,  and 
not  without  u  their  precedent  to  plead." 
On  the  contrary,  a  liberal  mode  of  reafon- 
ing  would  allow  mcie  freedom  to  the  mo- 
derns, who  poiTefs  fuch  (lores  of  new 
ideas,  to  deviate  from  ancient  rules,  than 
to  the  ancients  who  made  and  acknow- 
ledged  them. 

Thofe  oft  are  ftratagems  which  errors  feem> 
Nor  is  it  Homer  nods,  but  we  that  dream. 

Either  Steele  or  Addifon,  in  one  of  his 
periodical  papers,  humoroufly  dehres  his 
reader,  when  he  finds  him  dull,  to  fup- 
pofe  he  has  a  defign  in  it*  This  dodrine 
is  here  ferioufly  inculcated  with  refpecl  to 
the  ahcients ;  but  its.  abfurdity  is  fo  mani- 
,  that  we  may  regard  it  only  as  the  lively 
fally  of  a  young  author  who  was  fond  of 
faying  fmart  things,  without  being  folici- 
tous  about  their ■' truth*  A  judicious  poet 
may  defignedly  Uiider-tibriie  fome  parts  of 
a  long  work,  or,    rather  he  will  find  it  im- 


POPE^S    ESSAY    ON    CRITICISM.  l6l 

pofilble  to  be  every  where  equally  bril- 
liant,  but  he  will  never  with  deiign  write 
what  is  childifh  and  iniipid,  if  he  thinks  it 
to  be  fuch. 
Hail  Bards  triumphant,  born  in  happier  days ! 

This  noble  eulogy  on  the  poets  of  anti- 
quity is  not  to  be  admitted  without  many 
exceptions  and  limitations  r  efpecially  if 
it  is  meant  to  extend  to  all  that  unequal 
and  motley  affemblage  of  writers  known 
by  the  title  of  the  clafftcs.  Of  thefe,  ma- 
ny are  valued  and  read  merely  becaufe 
they  are  ancients ;  and  even  the  moil  ex- 
cellent afford  fufficient  fcope  for  manly 
criticifm,  which  can  never  arrive  at  foli- 
dity  of  principles,  if  it  is  obliged  to  re- 
gard the  negligence  and  defects  of  great 
writers  with  filent  reverence. 

True  Wit  is  Nature  to  advantage  drefs'd, 
What  oft  was  thought,  but  ne'er  fo  well  exprefs'd; 
Something,  whofe  truth  convine'd  at  fight  we  find, 
That  gives  us  back  the  image  of  our  mind. 

The  poet,  in  cenfuring  the  narrow  and 
partial  taftes  of  fome  critics,  begins  with 
that  for  conceit,  or  a  glitter  of  dazzling 
thoughts  rifing  one  after  another  without 
meaning  and  connexion.  This  is  falfe 
$W/;  as   a  contrail  to  which,  he   gives  a 


l6*2  LETTER        >." 

definition  of  the  true,  in  the  preceding 
lines.  But  he  has  evidently,  by  this  pur- 
pofe  of  contrafting  the  two  kinds,  been 
led  to  a  defcription  which  exhibits  none  of 
the  peculiar  features  of  wit,  as  other  writ- 
ers have  reprefented  it,  or  as  he  himfelf 
ufually  underftands  it.  By  this  definition, 
any  juft  moral  fentiment,  any  exact  picture 
of  a  natural  object,  if  clothed  in  good  ex- 
prefTion,  would  be  wit.  Its  tell  being  an 
agreement  with  images  previously  exiiling 
in  our  own  minds,  no  other  quality  is  re- 
quiftte  to  it  but  truth.  Even  uncommon- 
nefs  is  not  taken  into  the  character ;  for  we 
muft  often  have  thought  it,  and  be  able  to 
recognize  it  at  fight.  Nor  has  he  given 
any  diftinct  idea  of  that  advantageous  drefs 
which  makes  a  natural  thought  witty.  No 
drefs  can  fuit  fome  thoughts  fo  well  as  the 
molt  fimple.  Exalted  fentiments  of  the 
heart,  and  fublime  objects  in  nature,  ge- 
nerally ftrike  moil  when  prefented  in  lan- 
guage the  leafl  Itudied.  Indeed,  he  ufes, 
within  a  few  lines,  the  very  fame  meta- 
phor of  drefs,  in  expofing  the  finical  tafte 
of  thofe  who  value  a  work  for  the  ftyle 
rather  than  the  fenfe ;  and  the  fact  cer- 
tainly is,   that  the  mod  confefledly  witty 


pope's  essay  on  criticism.  163 

writers  have  often  been  little    folicitous  as 
to  the  manner  of  exprefiing  their  notions. 

Pope  evidently  entertains  a  different  con- 
ception of  wit  from  that  of  the  definition 
above  quoted,  m  the  lines  immediately  fol- 
lowing. 

As  fhades  more  fweetly  recommend  the  light, 
So  modeft  plainncfs  fets  oiFfprightly  wit. 
For  works  may  have  more  wit  than  does  them  good, 
As  bodies  periih  through  excefs  of  blood. 

Now,  "  modeft  plainnefs"  is  no  foil  or 
contrail  to  wit  as  characterized  in  the  de- 
finition, been  nfe  it  may  be  the  moft  u  ad- 
vantageous dre:  ought.  Again, 
that  wit  which  may  fuperabound  in  a  work, 
muii  be  a  different  thing  from  "  natural 
imagery  joined  to  good  expremon,"  for  in 
thofe,  what  danger  can  there  be  of  ex- 
cefs? He  was  certainly  now  recurring  in 
his  mind  to  thofe  brilKant  flafhes,  which, 
often  introduced  with  falfe  judg- 
ment, are  not,   however,  falfe  wit. 

The  two  characters  of  bad  critic  and 
bad  poet  are  greffly  confounded  in  the 
paffage  relating  to  poetical  numbers  ;  for 
though  it  be  true,  that  vulgar  readers  of 
poetry  are  chiefly  attentive  to  the  melody 
of  the  verfe,  yet  it  is  not  thej  who  admire. 


I64  LETTER       XVI. 

but  the  pa! try  verfifier  who  employs^  mono~ 
tonous  fyllables,  feeble  expletives,  and  3 
dull  routine  of  unvaried  rhymes.  Again, 
an  ordinary  ear  is  capable  of  perceiving 
the  beauty  arifing  from  the  found  being 
made  an  echo  to  the  fenfe — indeed  it  is 
one  of  the  moft  obvious  beauties  in  poetry 
• — but  it  is  no  eafy  talk  for  the  poet  to  fuc- 
ceed  in  his  attempts  to  render  it  fo,  as 
Pope  has  fufficiently  proved  by  the  refer- 
able failure  of  fome  of  his  examples  in  il 
luftration  of  the  precept. 

The  pow'r  of  mufic  all  cur  hearts  allow, 
And  what  Timotheus  was,  is  Dryden  now.  , 

Mufic  properly  fo  called,  and  the  me- 
lody refulting  from  veriification,  are  things 
radically  different  in  their  nature  and  prin- 
ciples, though  perpetually  confounded  in 
the  figurative  language  of  poets  and  writ- 
ers on  polite  literature.  Nor,  indeed,  do 
we  poilefs  terms  by  which  thefe  two  kinds 
of  pleating  found  can  well  be  Separately 
defcribed.  The  names  and  characters, 
however,  of  poet  and  mufician,  are  fuffi- 
ciently difcriminated ;  and  Pope  has  com- 
mitted a  grofs  error  in  confounding  them 
in  the  prefent  inftance.  There  is  no  re- 
femblance  between  the  manner  in  whicH 


pope's  essay  on  criticism.  165 

Wexazrder  was  affected  by  the  tnufic  of 
Timctheus,  and  that  in  which  we  are  af- 
fe&ed  bv  the  poetry  of  Dryden  deicriptive 
of  that  event.  The  firft  was,  as  ilory  re- 
lates, an  inib.nce  of  the  powers  of  pure 
found,  fkilfully  modulated  and  changed. 
The  latter  is  a  moft  animated  picture  of 
fucceflive  difplays  of  pamon;  and  much 
more  refembles  the  effect  of  a  hiftory- 
painting,  than  of  a  piece  of  muiic.  The 
mere  verfification  is  a  very  inferior  point 
in  Dryden' s  Ode,  though  it  is  a  principal 
one  in  Pope's  rival  Ode  on  St.  Cecilia's 
day.  Alexander's  Feaft  fet  to  Handel's 
muiic  may,  indeed,  be  paralleled  to  the 
performance  of  the  Grecian ;  but  then 
Handel,  and  not  Dryden,  is  the  modern 
Timotheus.  It  is  ludicrous  enough,  that 
Pope's  comparison  of  Dryden  to  a  harper, 
fhould  come  lb  near  to  the  idea  forme. 
Pope  himfelf  by  a  crowned  head,  who  is 
reported,  on  hearing  the  poet  greatly  ex- 
tolled in  his  prefence,  with  a  view  of  at- 
tracting his  notice,  to  have  afked,  if  Mr- 
Pope  were  a  fiddler. 

Fools  admire,  but  men  of  ferSe  approve. 

This    prudim    fentence    has    probably 
made  as  many  formal  cbXcombs  in   litera- 
X 


100  LETTER       XVI. 

hire,  as  Lord  Chefterfield's  opinion  on 
the  vulgarity  of  laughter,  has  among  men 
of  high  breeding.  As  a  general  maxim, 
it  has  no  foundation  whatever  in  truth. 
Froneriefs  to  admiration  is  a  quality  rather 
of  temper  than  of  underitanding  ;  and  if  it 
often  attends  light  minds,  it  is  alfo  infepa- 
rable  from  that  warmth  of  imagination 
which  is  requinte  for  the  ftrong  perception 
of  what  is  excellent  in  art  and  nature, 
Innumerable  infbmces  might  be  produced 
of  the  rapturous  admiration  with  which 
men  of  genius  have  been  ilruck  at  the 
view  of  great  performances.  It  is  enough 
here  to  mention  the  poet's  favourite  critic, 
Longinus,  who  is  far  from  being  contented 
with  cool  approbation,  but  gives  free  fcope 
to  the  moil  enraptured  praife.  Few  things 
indicate  a  mind  more  unfavourably  confli- 
'  tuted  for  the  fine  arts,  than  a  ilownefs  in 
being  moved  to  the  admiration  of  excel- 
lence ;  and  it  is  certainly  better  that  this 
paiTion  mould  at  firft  be  excited  by  objects 
rather  inadequate,  than  that  it  fhould  not 
be  excited  at  all. 

After  properly  exhorting  his  critic  to 
candour  and  good-nature,  the  poet  is, 
however,  indulgent  enough  to  point  out 


pope's  essay  on  criticism.  i6j 

ibme  topics  on  which  he  may  be  as  four 
and  fevere  as  he  pleafes.  The  fifft  fault 
given  up  to  his  rage  is  Obfcenity ;  and 
doubtlefs,  if  the  critic  think  it  worth  his 
while  to  direct  his  formidable  artillery 
againfl  fuch  an  obvious  violation  of  pro- 
priety, no  friend  of  virtue  and  decorum 
will  restrain  him.  It  was  not,  however, 
perfectly  decent  in  Pope  to  expreis  fuch  a 
rigid  zeal  on  this  fubject,  when  feveral  of 
his  own  juvenile  pieces,  Hill  preferved  in 
all  editions  of  his  works,  are  by  no  means 
free  from  the  blemifh  he  ftigmatizes. 

The  next  devoted  crime  is  Impiety.  Now, 
a  peribn  may  be  very  converfant  with  the 
rules  of  poetical  criticifm,  without  being 
able  exactly  to  determine  on  the  validity 
of  a  charge  of  impiety ;  and  there  is  good 
reafon  to  fufpec"t  that  our  young  lawgiver 
was  himfelf  in  this  cafe.      He  fays, 

The  following  licence  of  a  foreign  reign 
Did  all  the  dregs  of  bold  Socinus  drain ; 
Then  unbelieving  Priefts  reformed  the  nation, 
And  taught  more  pleafant  methods  of  falvation. 

Sociniau  is  a  very  potent  term  of  abufe, 
and  has,  at  various  periods,  been  applied 
with   lingular    advantage    bv    thofe    \ 

X2 


i68 


LETTER       XVI. 


wifhed  to  render  their  antagonifts  odious ; 
yet  the  religion  Socinus  profefled  will  bear 
companion,  in  point  of  fervency  and  pu- 
rity, with  that  of  the  mod:  faintly  names 
upon  record.  As  to  the  t:  more  pleafant 
methods  of  falvation,"  we  are  told  by  the 
right  reverend  annotator  (a  much  better 
authority  on  this  fubject  than  the  poet) 
that  they  were  the  duties  of  Chriftian  mo- 
rality, which  fucceeded  the  doctrines  of 
grace  and  fatisfaclion  held  in  the  preced- 
ing age.  Now,  that  thefe  new  divines 
offered  falvation  upon  eaher  terms  than 
their  predeceffors,  by  fubftituting  practice 
to  belief,  and  a  man's  own  efforts  to  vica- 
rious fatisfaclion,  is  not  a  very  obvious 
fact ;  nor  is  it  a  neceffary  confequence  of 
fuch  tenets,  that  "  vice  fhould  find  a  flat- 
terer in  the  pulpit."  "  Such  Monfters," 
whatever  the  poet  might  think,  are  not  to 
be  lubdued  by  the  thunders  of  belles-lettres 
critics,  but  by  the  adamantine  weapons  of 
found  argument. 

Here  I  clofe  my  remarks  on  this  per- 
formance. It  would  be  no  difficult  talk 
to  adduce  from  it  many  more  inflances 
of  fhallow  judgment  on  books  and  things, 
either  incidentally  mentioned,   or  defign- 


pope's  essay  on  criticism.        169 

ed  as  exemplifications  of  his  ruks  ;  but 
my  purpofe  was  to  (hew  you  how  little  it 
deferves  the  high  eftimation  in  which  x 
has  been  held  as  a  didactic  work.  This, 
I  truft,  has  fufficiently  appeared,  from 
the  vague  and  inconfequent  manner  of 
thinking  on  fundamental  points,  diiplayed 
in  the  cited  paffages.  The  character  of 
a  confummate  critic  at  twenty  is  what 
Pope  may  well  rehgn,  and  ftill  retain 
enough  of  juft  reputation  to  place  him  in 
the  mod  confpicuous  rank  of  Englifh  li- 
teratue. 

Farewell  ! 


C     *7<>     ) 


LETTER    XVIL 


ON      THE      ANALOGY      BETWEEN    MENTAL    AXp 
BODILY    DISEASE. 


DEAR     SON, 

It  has  been  afferted,  that  every  man's 
way  of  thinking  takes  a  tinge  from  his 
profeftion  or  manner  of  life.  Of  the 
truth  of  this  remark  I  am  perfonally  fenfi- 
ble,  from  the  habit  I  have  formed  of  ap- 
plying medical  ideas  to  moral  fubjecls.  It 
is  indeed,  nothing  new  to  regard  all  mental 
vices  and  defects  as  fo  many  difeafes  of  that 
part  of  our  frame  ;  and  moralifts  of  all 
ages  have  been  fond  of  running  compa- 
rifons  between  maladies  of  the  body  and 
the  mind.  Yet  I  cannot  but  think,  that 
iomething  ft  ill  remains  to  be  done  in  the 
practical  application  of  the  doctrine ;  and 
that  it  is  of  importance,  both  with  refpecl 
to  the  fuccefsful  treatment  of  mental  dif- 
eafes, and  to  the  preservation  of  our  tran- 


MENTAL    DISEASE.  ly  t 

quility  under  a  view  of  the  evils  of  life, 
that  this  refemblance  fhould  be  drongly 
imprefTed  on  our  thoughts. 

One  confequence  would  undoubtedly 
be  the  refult ;  that  we  fhould  not  expect  to 
cure  thefe  diforders  by  trifling  and  carnal 
remedies,  but  fhould  fix  our  confidence 
folely  on  fome  vigorous  plan,  confiding 
in  the  refolute  application  of  oppofiies,  upon 
the  medical  maxim,  contraria  contrariorur.t 
ejje  remedia.  It  is  the  want  of  power  or 
refolution  to  put  in  practice  this  grand 
principle  of  the  healing  art,  that  renders 
moral  diflempers  in  general  fo  inveterate* 
What  can  be  relied  upon  to  oppofe  ilrong 
natural  inclination,  condant  example,  and 
confirmed  habit,  but  fome  agent  equally 
powerful,  which  mail,  not  in  the  way  of 
perfuafion,  but  by  coercive  force,  be  em- 
ployed to  draw  over  the  mind  to  a  con- 
trary date  of  feeling  ?  Where  this  can 
be  put  in  practice,  there  is  no  cafe  of  mo- 
ral depravity  fo  defperate  as  to  be  without 
the  hope,  nay,  perhaps,  without  the  cer- 
tainty, of  a  cure ;  where  it  cannot,  the 
flighted  vitiation  is  hardly  to  be  removed. 
It  is  not  without  experience  that  I  fpealc 
in  this   matter,     More  than  once  ha>  it 


lj$  letter     XV;:. 

happened  to  me  to  be  confulted  as  a  friend 
on  occahon  of  the  difcovery  of  very  rui- 
nous tendencies  in  young  perfons.  In 
thefe  inftances,  dilluading  all  petty  expe- 
dients, I  recommended  fuch  a  total  change 
of  external  circumftances,  as  would  of  ne- 
cejfity  induce  as  complete  a  change  of  views 
and  habits ; — and  the  event  juftified  my 
advice.  That  this  was  a  right  method, 
was,  indeed,  fufficiently  obvious  ;  but  it 
might  not  be  fo  obvious  that,  it  was  the 
only  right  one ;  at  lead,  parental  indul- 
gence is  frequently  glad  to  ihelter  i'tfelf 
under  the  plaufibility  of  fome  lefs  decihve 
mode  of  proceeding.  But  to  one  who 
has  a  juft  notion  of  the  operation  of  mo- 
tives upon  the  mind,  it  will  be  very  appa- 
rent, that  as  long  as  thofe  which  are  in- 
duced for  the  purpofe  of  remedy  continue 
inferior  in  force  to  thofe  which  nourifh 
the  difeafe,  no  benefit  whatever  can  be 
expe&ed  from  their  application.  Actions 
which  we  would  avert  will  either  be  done, 
or  not  be  done.  They  will  infallibly  be 
done,  if  the  motives  for  them  preponde- 
rate; they  will  not  be  done,  if  the  con- 
trary takes  place.  There  is  no  medium  : 
and  fuch  is  the  power  of  habit,   that  every 


mental  disease.  173 

mftance  either  of  yielding  or  of  refifting, 
favours  a  iimilar  termination  when  the 
trial  next  occurs.  Whence  may  be  de- 
monvTratively  fliewn  the  weaknefs  of  ex- 
pecting any  advantage  from  the  mere  re- 
petition of  efforts  that  have  already  proved 
unavailing. 

You  are  better  acquainted  than  myfelf 
with  the  fcholaftic   controversies   concern- 
ing liberty  and  neceflity.   I  frequently  hear 
them  called  mere  logomachies,   and  fuch 
I  am  inclined  to   fuppofe  they  are,    when 
carried  to  their  utmoft  degree  of  abftrac- 
tion.  But  that  they  are  not  entirely  with- 
out practical  effects  upon  common  minds, 
I  am  from  obfervation  convinced  ;  and  in 
particular,    I   have  no  doubt  that  the  ten- 
dency of  the  popular  notions  concerning- 
mans    free-agency,   is  to  infpire  too  much 
confidence  in  the  efficacy   of  the  feebler 
aids  to  morality,    fuch  as  precept  and  ar- 
gumentation .     By  thofe  who  entertain  ex- 
alted ideas  of  the  felf-determining  power 
of  the  foul,  it  is  readily  conceived,  that 
placing  before  it  an  irrefragable  fyllogifm 
in  favour  of  virtue  can  fcarcely  fail  to  ena- 
ble it  to  refill   all  the  allurements  of  vice. 

y 


1 74  LETTER       XVII. 

But  the  poet  could  long  ago  pronounce, 
"  Video  meliora,  proboque,  deteriora,  fe- 
cjuor;"  the  true  interpretation  of  which  is, 
that  conviction  of  the  underitanding  is  not 
the  flrongeit  motive  that  can  be  prefented 
to  the  human  mind. 

A   perfon   cannot  have    furveyed  man- 
kind with  an  attentive  eye,    without  per- 
ceiving in  many  cafes  fuch  an   irrefiftible 
feries  of  caufes  operating  in  the  formation 
of  character,  as  mult  convince  him   of  the 
actual  exiftence  of  a  moral  neceflity  ; — that 
is,  of  fuch  an  overbearing  prepollency  of 
motives  tending  to  one  point,   that   in  no 
one  inftant  of  a  man's  life   could  he  be 
iuppofed  capable  of  a  courfe  of  action  dif- 
ferent from  that   he  has    really    adopted. 
Purfue  an  individual  belonging  to  any  one 
of  the   ftrongly-marked  claffes  in  fociety 
from  the  cradle  to  the  grave,  and  fee  if  the 
procefs  of  fixing    his    character    have   not 
been  as  regular  and  unalterable  as  that  of 
his    bodily    conftitution.       Take    one  of 
thofe,  too  frequent   in  this   great  metro- 
polis, who  may  be  faid  to  be   fuckled  with 
vice  and  infamy,   the  breed  of  a  proftitute 
and  houfe-breaker,  born   and  educated  in 
the  precind  of  St.    Giles's.       With  the 


MENTAL    DISEASE.  1 75 

firft  ufe  of  language  he  learns  blafphemy 
and  obfcenity ;  his  little  hands  are  prac- 
ticed in  picking  pockets,  and  his  infant 
understanding  in  framing  tricks  and  falfe- 
hocds.  His  early  pleafures  are  dram- 
drinking  and  debauchery  of  every  fpecies  ; 
and  when  not  roufed  by  appetite  or  com- 
pulhon,  he  panes  away  the  time  in  the 
ftupidity  of  iloth.  He  fees  nothing  be- 
fore him  but  acts  of  rapine,  cruelty,  and 
brutality.  Chafrifements  teach  him  craft, 
and  inflame  his  paflion  for  mifchief.  Nol 
only  the  duties  of  religion  and  the  obliga- 
tions of  virtue  are  things  utterly  beyond 
his  comprehenlion,  but  he  is  a  perfect 
flranger  to  all  the  comforts  of  decent  life. 
Thus  by  the  all  powerful  force  of  educa- 
tion and  habit  he  is  formed  into  the  cha- 
racter of  a  ferocious  beaft ;  certain  to  end, 
his  life  by  violence,  if  it  be  not  fooner  cut 
off  by  the  confequences  of  intemperance. 
This,  it  will  be  laid,  is  an  extreme  cafe  ,• 
but  even  in  the  oppoiite  rank  of  focietv, 
among  thofe  who,  as  we  commonly  fay, 
may  live  as  they  like,  inftances  may  be 
found  of  equal  fubj  ligation  to  the  law  of 
neceiTity.  Take  the  heir  to  a  large  en* 
Y2 


1/6  LETTER       XVII. 

tailed  efiate,  brought  up  while  a  child  in  $ 
houfe  diftinguifhed  for  riotous  luxury  and 
irregularity.  Let  him  be  nurfed  in  ideas 
of  felf-confequence,  nattered  by  obfequi- 
pus  iervants,  and  indulged  in  every  caprice 
of  appetite  and  paflion  by  weak  or  negli- 
gent parents.  Transfer  him  to  a  public 
fchool,  with  a  large  allowance  of  pocket- 
money  ;  and  thence,  when  rifing  to  man- 
hood, to  fome  genteel  college  in  an  univer- 
fity.  Then  fend  him  on  his  travels,  ac- 
companied by  an  ignorant  mercenary  tu- 
tor. Let  him  make  a  due  flay  in  every 
corrupt  metropolis  in  Europe,  the  retort 
of  his  idle  countrymen  ;  and  fmifti  by  jl ti- 
dying the  town  in  his  own.  Laflly,  return 
him  with  a  complete  apparatus  of  guns, 
horfes  and  hounds  to  his  native  woods, 
there  to  refide  the  uncontrouled  lord  of  a 
herd  of  tenants  and  dependents,  with  no 
other  object  in  life  than  to  take  his  plea- 
fure  and  maintain  his  hereditary  fway.  Is 
it  in  the  nature  of  things  poifible  that  this 
pian  fhould  turn  out  any  thing  elfe  than  a 
low-minded,  brutal,  tyrannical  debauchee  ? 
The  phyhcian  knows  that  certain  modes 
of  living  will  infallibly  bring  on  certain 
difeafes,  which  will  defcend  from  parents 


MENTAL    DISEASE.  I77 

to  children,  and  can  never  be  extirpated 
as  long  as  the  original  caufes  prevail.  The 
moral  ill:  may  equally  foretel  certain  vices 
as  the  confequence  of  certain  conditions 
and  manners  in  lbciety,  which  will  prove 
unconquerable  while  circumftances  remain 
the  fame.  The  morbid  tendency  in  both 
cafes  is  too  itrong  to  be  counteracted  by 
common  remedies.  Nothing  but  a  total 
change  of  habit,  effected  by  means  equally 
powerful  and  long-continued  with  thofe 
which  bred  the  malady,  can  work  a  cure. 
To  eftablifh  fuch  an  alternative  plan  has 
been  the  aim  of  all  the  great  reformers  of 
mankind.  It  was  that,  you  know,  of  our 
molt  revered  friend,  Mr.  Howard,  who, 
was  fully  fenfible  what  a  combination  of 
corrective  powers  was  necefTary  to-  pro- 
duce any  confiderable  and  lalting  effects 
upon  perfons  long  hardened  by  criminal 
courfes.  But  fuch  coercive  methods  can 
only,  in  the  common  ilate  of  things,  be 
applied  to  thofe  who  have  made  them- 
felves  the  objects  of  legal  punifhment. 
For  the  reformation  of  a  whole  people, 
and  efpecially  of  the  higher  clafTes,  no- 
thing can  be  relied  upon  but  one  ef  thofe 
grand  remedial  procejfts,  which  are  proba- 


I78  LETTER      XVII. 

bly  within  the  moral  plan  of  Providence. 
Nations  whom  a  long  courfe  of  profperity 
has  rendered  vain,  arrogant,  and  luxuri- 
ous, in  whom  increafing  opulence  has  ge- 
nerated increafed  wants  and  defires,  for 
the  gratification  of  which  all  barriers  of 
honour  and  juftice  are  broken  down,  who 
are  arrived  at  that  Hate  in  which,  accord- 
ing to  the  energetic  expreflion  of  the  Ro- 
man hiftorian,  they  can  neither  bear  their 
vices  nor  the  remedies  of  them ; — are 
only  to  be  brought  back  to  a  right  fenfe 
of  things  by  fome  fignal  cataftrophe, 
which  (hall  change  the  whole  form  of  their 
affairs,  and  oblige  them  to  fet  out  afrefh, 
as  it  were,  in  the  world.  A  conviclicn 
that  fuch  events  are  neceffary,  and  that  they 
are  kindly  intended  as  remedies  of  greater 
evils  than  they  immediately  occafion,  is 
the  only  confideration  that  can  tranquilife 
the  heart  of  a  benevolent  man  who  lives 
in  a  period  when  thefe  awful  operations 
are  in  a  peculiar  manner  carrying  on*. 
It   may  reconcile  him  to  the  various  de- 

*  Solet  fieri.     Hoc  parum  eft :  debuit  fieri, 
Decernur.tnr  iftaj  non  accidunt. 

Ssx ec.  Epiji. 


MENTAL    DISEASE.  1  jg 

lays  and  fluctuations  in  the  progrefs  to- 
wards a  Final  event  which  he  cannot  but 
ardently  defire.  It  may  convince  him 
that  nothing  is  loft  •  that  no  evils  are  with- 
out their  correfpondent  benefits;  and 
that  when  he  wifhes  for  a  fpeedy  fettle- 
in  ent  of  things  by  the  quiet  operation  of 
rcafon,  without  any  of  the  harfh  methods 
by  which  ftubborn  vices  are  to  be  forcibly 
eradicated,  he  wifhes  for  an  impractica- 
bility as  great,  as  the  furgeon  who  would 
hope  to  cure  an  inveterate  cancer  without 
the  knife  or  the  cauflic. 

Thefe  are  times,  my  Son,  in  which  re- 
flections of  this  kind  are  particularly  fea- 
fonable.  You  are  capable  of  giving  them 
their  due  force  ;  and  even  mould  you  find 
yourfelf  totally  miftaken  in  your  expecta- 
tions as  to  the  remit  of  fuppofed  remedial 
procefles,  you  are  provided  with  princi- 
ples which  will  enable  vou  to  acquiefce  in 
the  humble  confidence  that,  however  dif- 
tant,  the  time  will  come,  when  all  evils 
both  natural  and  moral  (hall  receive  their 
final  cure. 


(     i8o     ) 


LETTER    XVIIt. 


ON    SPLEEN    AND    LOW    SPIRITS, 


Do  not  be  alarmed,    my  dear  Son,    it 
the  fubj eel  of  my  prefent  letter.     It  is  not 
becaufe  I  have  obferved  in  you  any  indi- 
cations of  a  tendency  to  low  fpirits  that  I 
make  them  my  topic,  but  becaufe  I  know 
them  to  be  the  malady   that   molt  eanly1 
befets  perfons  of  a  literary  turn  and  feden  ~ 
tary  profefliom     And  however  youth  and 
variety  of .  purfuit  may  at  prefent   fecure 
you  againft  their  attacks,  the  time  will  pro- 
bably come,  when  it  will  require  fome  ef- 
fort on  your  part  to  refill  an  enemy,  whofe 
afTaults  become  continually  more  and  more 
pertinacious,  with  lefs  and  lefs  power  to 
repel  them. 

So  general,  indeed,  is  the  evil  of  low 
fpirits  in  certain  conditions,  that  I  confider 
it  as  the  grand  leveller  of  human  life — the 
malignant  fpell  that  renders  all  the  diftihc> 


SPLEEN  AND  LOW  SPIRITS.  1  8  1 

tfons  of  rank,  knowledge  and  underftand- 
ing,  almoft  totally  inefficacious  in  creating 
ihofe  differences  of  degree  in  happinefs 
that  {hould  feem  almoft  necelTarily  to  re- 
fult  from  them.  It  is  that  which  makes 
the  fplendid  palace  and  luxurious  banquet 
of  the  nobleman  lefs  pleafant  to  him  than 
his  poor  hut  and  coarfe  meal  to  the  la- 
bourer ; — which  defeats  the  well  imagined 
fchemes  of  enjoyment  from  liberal  cu- 
riofity  and  literary  leifure; — which  infufes 
liftleffnefs  and  difguft  amid  the  mofl  flu- 
died  refinement  of  public  amufement ; — 
which,  in  fhort,  fooner  or  later,  gives  con- 
vincing proof  of  the  vanity  of  expecting 
to  live  happily  by  living  only  to  be  en- 
tertained. 

This  malady,  under  the  name  of  Spleen* 
has  been  the  fubject  of  a  variety  of  pub- 
lications, ferious  and  humourous,  moral 
and  medical.  Among  the  reft  it  has 
given  title  to  one  of  the  moil  original 
poems  in  our  language,  replete  with  wit, 
imagery,  and  obfervations  of  mankind  in 
an  uncommon  degree.  I  need  fcarcely 
tell  you  that  I  mean,  Greens  poem  of  the 
Spleen.  The  author  feems,  like  Horace, 
Z 


1 82  LETTER       XVI!  Ii 

to  have  roved  through  the  regions  of  phi-* 
lofophical  fpeculation  without  any  decifive 
choice,  till  at  length  he  fettled  in  a  refined 
and  rational  epicurifm.  His  favourite 
maxim  is,  to  let  the  world  glide  bv,  view- 
ing its  fhifting  fcenes  as  objects  of  amufe- 
ment,  without  being  enough  intereded  in 
any  to  feel  acutely  from  difappointment. 
His  is  the  philofophy  of  good-humoured 
fpeculative  indolence  ;  and  if  a  man  wants 
excufes  for  fitting  Hill  and  avoiding  every 
caufe  of  trouble  and  vexation,  be  can  no 
where  furnifh  himfelf  with  happier  quota- 
tions.    Who  has  not  heard  of 

Reforming  fchemes  are  none  of  mine, 

To  mend  the  world's  a  vaft  defign, 

Like  theirs,  who  ftrive  in  little  boat 

To  tug  to  them  the  fhip  afloat,  &c. 

The  principle  of  this,  that 
Zeal  when  baffled  turns  to  Spleen, 
mufi  be  admitted  to  have  fome  founda- 
tion in  fact;  and  may  jullly  be  pleaded 
againft  the  indulgence  of  eager  wilhes  and 
extravagant  expectations  in  public  pro- 
jects ;  yet  I  cannot  but  think,  on  the  other 
hand,  that  to  inculcate  indifference  to  all 
thofe  objects  which  are  molt  capable  of 
roufmg  the  foul,  and  giving  employment 


SPLEEN  AND  LOW  SPIRITS.  183 

to  its  nobleit  faculties,  is  not  the  bed  ad- 
vice for  keeping  off  that  liillefs  languor 
which  is  the  parent  of  fpleen.  In  fhort, 
though  the  perufal  of  Mr.  Green's  poem 
may  prove  an  effectual  remedy  for  an  oc- 
calional  fit  of  low  fpirits,  yet  I  am  of  opi- 
nion, that  the  courfe  of  amuiive  lpecula- 
tion  it  fo  pleafingly  fuggeils,  with  the  va- 
cation  from  all  cares  and  duties,  public  and 
private,  will  not  anfwer  as  the  general  re- 
gimen againft  this  difeafe  of  the  mind. 

Were  I  to  treat  medically  upon  this  fub- 
je£{,  I  fliould  lay  a  very  particular  ftrefs 
upon  temperance  as  the  grand  prophylactic; 
and  I  ilioulcl  make  the  word  import  mucli 
more  than  its  ufual  fignification.  A  plen- 
tiful dinner  every  day  on  a  variety  of 
difhes,  with  a  bottle  of  wine  to  wafh  it 
down,  feems  in  the  common  opinion  per- 
fectly compatible  with  a  plan  of  ltrict 
temperance  ;  and  if  it  be  preceded  by  a 
regular  morning's  ride  to  get  a  hearty 
appetite  for  this  dinner,  every  thing  is 
thought  to  have  been  done  that  men  could 
do  for  the  prefervation  of  health  and  ipi- 
rits.  Let  gout  and  hypochondria  come 
when  they  will,  the  mode  of  living  is  net 

a  a 


184  letter     xvirr. 

to  be  blamed, — the  one  is  hereditary,  the 
ether  constitutional.  This  do&rine  may 
pafs  for  orthodox  in  the  medico-moral 
cafuiftry  of  a  vifitation  or  corporation - 
feaft;  but  it  is  neverthelefs  indubitably  true, 
that  fuch  a  good  liver  has  no  more  right  to 
expeel  equal  and  unclouded  fpirits,  than  a 
minifter  of  Hate  has,  an  unfpotted  reputa- 
tion and  clear  conference.  But  I  mall  dwell 
no  longer  on  this  topic,  and  proceed  to 
that  part  of  the  regimen  which  relates  more 
immediately  to  the  mind. 

This  refts  upon  a  iimple  foundation  ; 
for  were  I  afked,  upon  what  circumftance 
the  prevention  of  low  fpirits  chiefly  de- 
pended, I  mould  borrow  the  ancient  ora- 
tor's mode  of  enforcing  the  leading  prin- 
ciple of  his  art,  and  reply,  employment, 
employment,  employment  \  This  is  the  grand 
panacea  for  the  taediitm  vitae,  and  all  the 
train  of  fancied  evils,  which  prove  fo 
much  more  infupportable  than  real  ones. 
It  is  a  medicine  that  may  be  prefented  in  a 
thoufand  forms,  all  equally  efficacious.  It 
may  be  compounded  of  all  the  different 
proportions  of  mental  and  bodily  exer- 
tion ;  nay,  it  may  be  folely  the  one  or  the 
•the?,  provided  it  be   emphyment.     For  I 


SPLEEN  AND  LOW  SPIRITS.  185 

will  not  hefitate  to  affert,  that  to  have  the 
mind  ardently  engaged  in  a  purfuit  that 
totally  excludes  exercife  of  the  body,  is 
much  more  favourable  to  the  fpirits,  than 
a  languid  mixture  of  both. 

We  are  apt  to  pity  a  perfon  occupied 
by  humour"  or  neceflity  in  a  tafk  which  we 
think  dull  and  tirefome.  Our  compaflion 
is  here  mifplaced.  No  tafk  heartily  en- 
tered upon  can  be  tirefome,  and  a  bufinefs 
is  always, better  than  an  amufement.  I  have 
no  doubt  that  Dr.  Johnfon  was  much  hap- 
pier while  compiling  his  dictionary,  than 
in  the  luxurious  indolence  of  Streatham. 
And  what  but  a  confcioufnefs  of  the  ne- 
ceflity  of  employment  to  his  comfort  could 
have  induced  him,  in  the  laft  years  of  his 
melancholy  life,  to  make  ferious  propofals 
for  a  tranflation  of  Thuanus  ?  A  late 
tj-anflator  of  Homer,  whofe  admirable 
original  productions  have  led  many  to  la- 
ment that  he  fhould  have  been  fo  em- 
ployed, has  in  truly  pathetic  language 
taken  an  affectionate  leave  of  his  long 
work,  as  the  fweet  folace  of  many  and 
many  an  hour,  which  by  its  means  was 
made  to  glide  by  uncounted.  And,  I 
fear,  the  innate  melancholy  of  genius  has 


X86  LETTER       XVIII. 

rendered  him  too  good  a  judge  of  the 
value  of  fuch  a  relief.  For  anfwering 
this  purpofe,  the  fpecies  of  employment 
muft  be  one  which  does  not  {train  the  fa- 
culties to  the  higheft  pitch;  for  fuch  an 
exertion  can  be  fupported,  by  common 
minds,  at  lealt,  only  during  a  fhort  pro- 
portion of  time.  A  fteady  equable  oc- 
cupation, requiring  rather  care  and  dili- 
gence, than  flights  of  fancy  or  the  powers 
of  invention,  is  the  proper  Jiaple  (if  I  may 
fo  call  it)  of  a  well-employed  life. 

With  refpect  to  the  numerous  body  of 
thofe  who  may  be  idle  if  they  pleafe,  they 
will  find  coniiderable  difficultv,  as  well  in 
the  choice  of  proper  employment,  as  in 
the  exertion  of  refolution  enough  for  the 
vigorous  performance  of  a  fpontaneous 
tafk.  A  majority  of  them  will,  therefore, 
be  doomed  to  the  intrunons  of  Spleen,  pt 
intervals  when  neither  active  pleafure  nor 
bufmefs  preferves  the  mind  from  its  at- 
tacks. But  this  is  no  other  than  the  ne- 
cevlary  confequence  of  fituations  of  life 
wholly  artificial,  and  which  make  no  pan 
of  the  original  plan  of  human  nature. 
They  who  are  ambitious  of  (rations  in 
which  there  are  no  duties  to  perform,  no. 


SPLEEN*  AN'D  LCW  SPIRITS.  1  87 

incitements  to  exertion,  muft  not  expect 
to  poffefs  that  conftant  cheerfulnefs,  which 
is  the  folace  of  toil,  and  the  reward  of  ufe- 
ful  activity.  Providence  certainly  never 
intended  to  make  fuch  a  difference  be- 
tween creatures  of  its  hand,  as  that  fome 
fhould  live  only  to  enjoy,  while  others 
lived  only  to  be  the  minifters  of  their  en- 
joyments. Though  in  an  advanced  ftage 
of  fociety  many  muft  be  exempted  from  the 
fentence  of  eating  their  bread  in  the  fweat 
of  their  brow,  yet  it  is  an  immutable  de- 
cree that  the  oil  of  gladnefs  fhall  brighten 
the  face  of  induftry  alone. 

For  myfelf  and  my  children,  there  is  no 
clanger  left  we  fhould  come  to  want  mo- 
tives for  the  regular  employment  of  the 
faculties  bellowed  upon  us.  Let  us  not 
murmur  at  the  kind  operation  of  fuch  a 
neceflity.  For  how  much  virtue  and  hap- 
pinefs  are  not  men  indebted  to  that  confli- 
tut  ion  of  things,  which  impofes  upon  them 
an  obligation  to  a£t  and  to  refrain. 

Farewell ! 

P.  S.  Since  I  wrote  this  letter,  I  have 
been  perufing  a  Difcourfe  in  which  the 
benefits   rcfulting   from  employment   are 


t88  LITTER       Willi 

confidered  with  reference  to  the  great  fyf- 
tem  eftablifhed  by  the  Deity,  whereby 
perfonal  and  general  happinefs  are  in  fo 
admirable  a  manner  made  to  coincide.  It 
is  there  particularly  {hewn,  how  occupa- 
tion contributes  to  our  happinefs  by  in- 
ducing a  temporary  forgetfulnefs  of  felf; 
nothing  being  fo  much  the  bane  of  enjoy- 
ment, as  the  reference  of  our  adions  to 
xhefelfijh  principle.  This  excellent  piece, 
which  I  cannot  too  warmly  recommend  to 
your  attention,  is  Dr.  Prieftley's  Sermon  on 
the  Duty  of  not  living  to  our/elves. 


(    i89    ) 


LETTER    XIX= 


ON    CONSOLATION, 


DEAR    SON, 

Your  intended  profeflion  refembles 
tiline  in  this  refpect,  that  it  is  a  duty  fre- 
quently belonging  to  each,  to  adminifter 
confolation  under  the  fevereft  diftrefs  hu- 
man nature  can  feel, — that  arifirig  from  the 
lois  of  friends  by  death.  In  mine,  indeed, 
the  office  is  rather  fpontaneous  than  pro- 
feflional ;  and  the  houfe  of  difeafe  is  ge- 
nerally quitted  by  the  phyficicn  when  it 
becomes  the  houfe  of  mourning.  But 
where  attachments  of  friendship  have  made 
us  fomewhat  more  to  a  family  than  mere 
feed  attendants,  (and  no  prbfeflion  fo 
much  favours  thofe  attachments)  we  can- 
not hurry  away  from  the  fcene  of  affliction. 
A  a 


ago  letter    xrx. 

Though  our  art  has  failed,  our  counfcl 
and  fympathy  may  be  advantageoufly  em- 
ployed to  alleviate  human  mifery ;  and 
callous  indeed  muft  his  heart  be,  who  is 
capable  of  refuiing  his  confolatory  aid  on 
the  plea,  It  is  not  my  bufinefs.  In  fact, 
few  perfons  will  be  found  better  acquainted 
with  practical  confolation  than  the  medical 
faculty  ;  and  if  any  experience  I  may  have 
acquired  in  this  matter  can  be  of  fervice 
to  you,  to  whom  it  will  be  truly  a  profef- 
iional  concern,  you  will  thank  me  for  com- 
municating it. 

With  refpecl  to  the  confolatory  views 
that  religion  affords,  highly  as  I  think  of 
their  efficacy,  particularly  of  that  derived 
from  the  habit  of  fubmitting  to  the  dif- 
penfations  of  Providence  in  full  confidence 
of  their  kind  purpofe,  I  {hall  not  at  pre- 
fent  touch  upon  them.  It  is  unneceflary 
for  me  to  fuggeft  fuch  con  fid  erat  ions  to 
you.  I  mall  confine  myfelf  flriclly  to  to- 
pics which  refer  to  this  world,  and  to  our 
own  poweis  in  fubduing  the  impreflions  of 
grief.  Bit  as  we  cannot  expecl  to  be 
fuccefsful  in  removing  effects,  without  a 
thorough  knowledge  of  their  caufe,  it  will 
be  neceilary  to  begin  with  coniidering  what 


ON    CONSOLATION.  lgl 

is  the  real  caufe  of  the  forrow  we  feel  from 
the  lofs  of  friends. 

I  am  very  far  from  agreeing  with  thofe 
who  refer  all  our  fympathetic  emotions  to 
/elf.  I  am  Jure  that  the  feelings  with  which 
we  behold  the  fufferings  of  a  fellow  crea- 
ture are  generally  void  of  the  remote!! 
reference  to  our  own  condition.  While, 
then,  a  dear  friend  is  lying  before  us  in  the 
agonies  of  a  fevcre  difeafe,  our  fympa 
is  pure ;  it  is  directed  to  him,  without  any 
mixture  offelfifh  coniiderations.  But  when 
the  itruggle  is  clofed  by  death,  the  cafe  i^ 
entirely  changed.  If  his  life  was  of  little 
confequence  to  our  happinefs,  the  mind 
inftantly  feels  relieved  of  her  burthen  ;  and 
the  tender  regret  which  remains,  is  rather 
a  foothing  than  a  diftrefsful  fenlatien.  It 
is  thus  we  feel  when  the  infirmities  of  a 
good  old  age  are  brought  to  their  period, 
and  when  long  and  hopelefs  difeafe,  which 
dellroyed  ail  the  ends  of  living,  receives 
its  final  cure.  But  when  our  dcarell  in- 
tcrells  were  at  (lake  in  the  life  of  our 
friend,  the  inftant  of  the  total  extinction  of 
hope  is  that  of  the  mod  exquifite  pang  of 
gvief.  The  very  rage  and  itorm  of  j 
A  a  <l 


1Q2  LETTER       XIX. 

row  then  rifes;  and  the  fenfe  of  loj's  rufhes 
upon   the  mind  in  all  the  black  colouring 
of  defpair.     Here  it   is  impomble    not    to 
recognize  a  Jelfijh  caufe  of  grief.     It  may, 
indeed,  be  fomewhat  tinged  with  remain- 
ing pity  for  the  fufferer  ;  but  the  great  ob- 
ject of  pity  is  felf ;  and  the  feeling  of  de- 
privation  is   in  fubftance  the  fame  as  that 
proceeding   from   the    lofs   of  any  other 
worldly  comfort.     The  real  meafure,  then, 
of    affliction  on    fuch    occafions,     is   the 
degree  in  which  the  mourner's  happinefs 
was  dependent  on  the  life  of  the  deceafed  ; 
and    if  we  were    able  exadly  to    eflimate 
this  for  another  perfon,  we  might  certainly 
forte!  the  range  of  his  prefent  and  future 
diftrefs.     Such  an  eftimate,    however,    is 
difficult  to  make ;  for  the  fources  of  en- 
joyment, and  confequently   of  regret,  are 
io  different  to  different  perfons,  that  what 
appears  a  fanciful  and  capricious  caufe  of 
forrow  to    one,     fhall    affed    another    as 
fomething   the    moft    folid   and    durable. 
Yet,  there  mufl,  on  the  whole,   be  a  cer- 
tain proportion  between  iofTes  in  the  com- 
mon mode  of  calculating  them,    and  the 
pain  they  occafion ;    and   though    in    the 
very  nrft  movements  of  grief  this  proper- 


ON  CONSOLATION.  lg$ 

lion  may  not  appear,  we  may  fafely  reckon 
upon  its  final  operation.  A  fond  mother 
of  a  numerous  family,  whofe  infant  at  the 
breaft  is  taken  from  her,  may  for  a  fliort  pe- 
riod feel  a  fenfe  of  lofs  equal  to  that  from 
lofmg  her  hufband  or  eldeft  fon;  becaufe 
the  child  was,  for  the  time,  the  object  of 
her  moft  frequent  attentions  and  rarefies. 
But  this  ftate  cannot  be  of  long  duration. 
Her  happinefs  in  its  main  points  was  no 
more  dependent  upon  fuch  an  infant,  than 
that  of  a  child  upon  its  favourite  bird.  He 
weeps  bitterly  when  it  is  flown,  but  a  new- 
one  to-morrow  makes  him  forget  it. 

The  extent  of  the  lofs  being  therefore 
the  true  meafure  of  the  grief  refulting 
from  it,  the  natural  and  fimple  confe- 
quence  mufl  be,  that  all  effectual  confola- 
tion  mufl:  fpring  from  the  means  offered  to 
the  mind  for  repairing  the  lofs.  As  a 
merchant  who  has  feen  his  richly-freighted 
velTel  perifli  before  his  eyes,  can  receive 
no  comfort  equal  to  that  of  collecting 
fome  wrecks  of  his  treafure  driven  to 
land ;  fo  the  mourner  deprived  of  the 
deareft  object  of  his  affeclions,  to  whom 
he  looked  for  the  chief  folace  and  pleaiure 
of  his  life,   can  only  feel  relief  from  the 


!g4  LETTER       XIX. 

contemplation  of  fome  remaining  fource 
of  happinefs,  which  may  afford  a  fubfti- 
tution,  refembling  in  kind,  however  infe- 
rior in  degree.  The  proper  office,  then, 
of  a  friend  who  undertakes  the  arduous 
tafk  of  confolation,  is  to  difcover  and  pre- 
fent  to  the  view  of  the  fufferer. every  ob- 
ject from  whence  a  reparation  of  the  lofs 
may  be  derived.  I  am  aware,  indeed, 
that  in  the  firrt.  movements  of  generous 
forrow  there  is  a  delicacy  of  fentiment 
which  fpurns  the  idea  of  compromifing  its 
feelings,  and  regards  it  as  a  fort  of  viola- 
tion of  the  dead,  to  fubmit  their  value  to 
any  cool  calculation  of  utility.  It  delights 
in  exaggerating  every  circumftance  which 
heightens  the  lofs ;  and  prides  itfelf,  as  it 
were,  in  regarding  it  as  irreparable.  To 
this  "  infirmity  of  noble  minds"  all  due 
indulgence  fhould  be  (hewn,  but  without 
lofing  fight  of  what,  after  all,  is  the  true 
principle.  The  grief  being  fundamentally 
felfrfh,  muft  receive  its  cure  from  confe- 
derations which  apply  to  felf;  and  thefe, 
however  gradually  and  indirectly,  rnuft  at 
length  be  brought  forwards.  It  is  a  for- 
tunate circumftance  when  the  command- 
ing language  of  duty  can  be  made  to  co- 


ON  CONSOLATION.  lgj 

incide  with  the  foothing  fuggeftions  of 
comfort ;  for  no  delicacy  can  be  pleaded 
againll  an  appeal  to  duty.  The  mourner 
dares  not  fay  or  think,  My  grief  for  the 
deceafed  abfolves  me  from  all  the  claims 
of  Surviving  obje&s  whom  nature  has  com- 
mitted to  my  care. — But  duty  prompts 
.active  exertions,  which  are  the  furefi  pre- 
fervatives  againft  the  moft  baneful  ef- 
fects of  forrovv.  Hence  fome  of  thofe 
cafes  which  feem  of  all  the  moft  deplo- 
rable are  found  to  be  lefs  injurious  to  the 
mind  in  their  confequences,  than  others 
where  the  lofs  is  in  appearance  lighter. 
It  is  feldom  that  the  widowed  mother  of 
a  large  and  unprovided  family  is  abfo- 
lutely  overwhelmed  by  her  calamity;  where,- 
as  the  wealthy  parent  deprived  of  a  favour- 
ite child  frequently  finks  into  the  palfying 
defpair  of  melancholy. 

Let  him,  then,  who  aims  at  adminis- 
tering a  confolation  beyond  the  reach  of 
cuflomary  forms,  begin  with  putting  him- 
felf  as  nearly  as  poflible  in  the  fituation  of 
the  afflicted  perfon,  and  Searching  out  the 
points  on  which  grief  really  bears,  apply 
his  attention  to  difcover  what  will  eafe  it 
there.     The  widower,   fitting   in  gloomy 


lg6  LETTER      XIX, 

folitude,  or  looking  willfully  on  a  grt 
of  children  deprived  of  a  mother's  cares 
and  tendernefs,  wants  a  companion  for  his 
lonely  hours,  and  a  helper  in  parental  and 
domeftic  concerns.  Let  him,  as  far  as  he 
is  able,  become  that  companion  ;  and  let 
him  employ  his  thoughts  in  finding  out 
friends  or  relatives  who  may  in  fome  mea- 
-fure  fucceed  to  the  maternal  office,  and  re- 
gulate the  difordered  ftate  of  familv  affairs; 
For  the  defolate  widow  loft  in  the  per- 
plexities ofbuiinefs,  and  terrifiett  with  her 
forlorn  uniheltered  condition,  let  him  dis- 
entangle complicated  accounts,  obtain  the 
belt  council  in  dubious  proceedings,  muf- 
ter  all  the  connexions  of  kindred  and 
irienddiip,  and  intereft  them  in  her  be- 
half, fet  before  her  confoling  profpe&s  of 
future  expectations,  and  {hew  her  that  the 
world  is  not  that  wildernefs  of  defpair  to 
her  and  her  children  which  in  the  firft 
paroxyfms  of  grief  fhe  imagined  it  to  be. 
Her  lofs  is  perhaps  the  gieateft  that  a  hu- 
man being  can  fuftain.  Its  fubftitutes 
therefore  fhbuld  be  fought  with  the  great- 
eft  diligence,  and  from  the  moft  various 
quarters, 


ON    CONSOLATION.  tg'f 

To  parents  weeping  over  the  untimely 
grave  of  a  beloved  child,  the  conibler 
fhould  call  to  mind  their  remaining  chil- 
dren,  and  fetting  them  full  in  their  view, 
he  fliould  fay,  Here  are  your  comforts — ■ 
here  are  your  duties !  Thefe  are  enough 
to  fill  your  hearts  and  occupy  all  your  at- 
tentions. By  due  cultivation,  you  may 
obtain  from  them  more  than  a  compenfa- 
tion  for  what  you  have  loft.  The  tree 
has,  indeed,  been  mutilated,  but  it  mav 
be  brought  to  yield  as  much  fruit  as  if  all 
its  branches  were  entire.  To  thoie  whole 
only  hope  is  blafted — whofe  profpecls  of  a 
riling  generation  to  cheer  and  honour  their 
declining  years  is  for  ever  clofed — let  it 
be  tenderly  yet  firmly  urged,  that  they 
live  in  a  world  filled  with  relations  of 
every  kind  between  man  and  man — that 
the  ties  of  friendmip,  neighbourhood,  and 
country  ftill  fubfift  in  their  full  force — that 
the  duty  of  not  living  to  onrfehves  is  in  all 
cafes  binding,  and  if  faithfully  performed, 
Will  riot  fail  to  repay  itfelf  by  heartfelt 
pleafures.  Afk  them  what  they  would 
have  been  had  they  never  pofleffed  a  child. 
Would  the  world  have  been  a  blank  tc 
Bb 


3C}8  LETTER       XIX. 

fhem,   containing  nothing  worthy  of  their 
Care      and    attachment?     Cruelly    difap- 
pointed  as  they  have  been- — ruined  as  are 
all  their  plans  of  remaining  life,   yet  it  is 
in  their  power  to  fet  out  anew,  and  create 
to   themfelves    thofe    objects    of    intereft 
which  would  naturally  have  engaged  their  ' 
attention   had  they   been  childlefs.      Are 
their   minds  ftrong  and  their  views  ele- 
vated ? — 'prefent  to  them  fome  large  ob- 
ject capable  of  employing  all  their  exer- 
tions in  the  purfuit,   and  of  fatisfying  their 
reafon  in  the  end.     Under  worfe  than  the 
death  of  an  only  child,   Howard  took  into 
his  protection  all  the  friendlefs  of  mankind, 
and  was  confoled.     Are  their  minds  weak 
and  their  taftes  trivial  ? — their  child  was 
little  more  to  them  than  a  play-thing,  and 
a  thoufand   other  play-things  may  fupply 
its  place. 

Thus  in  all  cafes  of  lofs,  fome  fubftitu- 
tion  may  be  found,  which,  if  it  does  not 
obliterate  the  calamity,  yet  lightens  it. 
The  ltroke  of  misfortune  never  falls  fo 
heavy  as  was  expected.  It  is  alleviated 
by  a  variety  of  things  which  flood  for 
nothing  in  the  computation,  but  which 
kind  nature,  ever  ftudious  of  our  happi- 


ON  CONSOLATION.  lQQ, 

nefe,  feizes  upon,  and  employs  to  fubdue 
her  bitterer!  foe,  obdurate  grief.  If  great 
forrows  overwhelm  us,  little  joys  unite  to 
buoy  us  up  again.  This  procefs  may  in 
general  be  relied  on  as  of  fure  operation  ; 
and,  in  fad,  renders  the  office  of  conibler 
only  one  of  temporary  neceliity.  But 
during  the  hrlt  accefs  of  grief,  it  is  fre- 
quently one  of  high  importance;  and  on 
its  fkilful  execution  much  of  future  peace 
and  comfort  may  depend.  You  remem- 
ber the  pretty  metaphor  of  Shake ipear ; 
Ifcing  that  I  flow  in  grief, 
The  imalleft  twine  may  lead  me. 

The  fir  it  impulfe  in  fuch  a  itate  may 
be  of  great  moment  in  the  direction  of 
after  conduct.  One  requiiite,  however, 
for  performing  fuccefsfuily  the  office  of 
coniblation,  nature  alone  can  bellow — a 
feeling  and  benevolent  heart.  In  that,  I 
fear  not  your  deficiency.  That  it  may 
enable  you  in  this,  as  in  all  other  duties 
of  your  ftation,  to  ad  to  the  full  iatisfac- 
tion  of  yourfelf  and  others,  is  the  mod 
cordial  wifh  of 

Your  truly  affectionate,  &c. 
Bb2 


(      2oo      ) 


LETTER    XX. 


O.N    THE    INEQUALITY    OF    CONDITION^ 


DEAR    SO?C, 

In  my  perambulations  of  this  immenfe 
metropolis,  where  human  life  appears  un- 
der all  its  forms,  and  the  excefs  of  opu- 
lence is  clofely  bordered  on  by  the  mofl 
iqualid  poverty,  many  are  the  reflections 
that  occupy  my  mind,  often  to  the  tem- 
porary forgetfulnefs  of  my  bufmefs  and 
way.  Of  thefe,  fome  of  the  molt  painful 
arife  from  the  contemplation  of  the  pro- 
digious inequality  among  mankind,  and 
the  flate  of  indigence  and  degradation  to 
which  fo  large  a  portion  of  them  appear 
condemned.  Between  the  inhabitant  of 
the  fplendid  fquare,  and  the  tenant  of  the 
gloomy  alley,  the  apparent  difference  is 
fuch,  that  if  we  take  our  ideas  of  the  na- 
ture and  destination  of  man  from  the  one, 
they  feem  no  more  applicable  to  the  other, 


INEQUALITY    OF    CONDITIONS.  <2ol 

than  if  they  were  beings  of  different  or- 
ders. One  oppears  the  fpoilt  child,  the 
other,  the  abandoned  outcaft  of  this  world. 
There  is,  indeed,  a  clafs  between  the  two 
extremes  on  which  the  mind  may  dwell 
with  more  complacency  ;  but  if  this  be 
made  a  ftandard  for  the  fpecies,  our  per- 
plexities are  only  increafed  by  obferv- 
ing  the  double  deviations  from  it.  After 
thus  brooding  over  a  chaos  of  confufed 
thought,  I  feem  at  length  to  difcern  the 
forms  of  things  with  more  diftincinefs  ; 
and  the  fatisfaclion  this  affords  me  is  fuch, 
as  to  make  me  defirous  of  communicating 
it  to  you. 

The  firfl  point  absolutely  requifite  to 
be  fettled  in  order  to  view  the  actual  con- 
dition of  mankind  with  proper  feelings,  is, 
how  far  it  is  a  necejfary  one.  Some  bene- 
volent philofophers,  {hocked  and  difguft- 
ed  with  the  Hate  of  fociety  as  it  appears  in 
all  large  combinations  of  men,  have  taken 
refuge  in  the  fuppofition  that  it  is  all  arti- 
ficial and  unnatural.  They  have  gone 
back  to  the  lavage  condition,  and  aflbci- 
ating  their  own  refined  ideas  with  the 
fimplicity  of  that  ftate,  they  have  formed 
a   picture  of    human   life,   polTefling   the 


2o3  LETTER       XX. 

moral  advantages  of  civilization,  without 
its  vices  and  inequalities.  But  as  long  as 
this  is  no  more  than  a  fcene  of  fiction, 
though  drawn  by  the  molt  mafterly  hand, 
it  defer ves  no  regard  in  the  decifion  of  a 
queftiGn  within  the  reach  of  real  obferva- 
tion. 

In  order  to  form  true  notions  of  what 
man  effentially  is  by  his  nature,  the  only 
fure  way  of  proceeding  is  the  fame  that 
we  mould  adopt  in  ftudying  the  nature  of 
-any  other  animal.  Confult  his  hiftory  for 
a  long  feries  of  ages.  See  what  his  lead- 
ing character  has  ever  been,  and  conclude 
with  confidence  that  fuch  it  will  ever  be. 
If  the  operation  of  his  faculties  and  pro- 
penfities  have  at  all  times  tended  to  cer- 
tain effects,  there  is  the  fame  reafon  to 
fuppofe  that  they  will  ever  continue  to  do 
fo,  as  that  any  other  of  what  we  call  the 
laws  of  nature  will  remain  inviolate.  Bees 
will  ever  conftruct  combs ;  beavers  will 
raife  dams ;  rooks  will  form  fettlements  ,- 
and  men  will  build  cities.  The  principle 
of  congregating  is  fo  llrong  within  him, 
that  it  will  ever  determine  the  condition  of 
the  bulk  of  the  fpecies.  For,  confider 
ivhat  effects  neceffarily  flow  from  it.     Men 


INEQUALITY    OF    CONDITIONS.  0.0$ 

affembled  in  focieties  mutually  fharpen 
each  others  faculties,  and  open  new 
fources  of  enjoyment,  and  confequently, 
of  defire.  To  the  arts  of  firft  necefiity, 
fucceed  thofe  of  convenience,  of  elegance, 
of  fplendour.  Arts  fuppoie  artilts  ;  both 
the  contriving  head,  and  the  labouring 
hand.  The  firft,  being  a  rarer  quality, 
will  be  more  valued  than  the  fecond.  In 
the  fame  manner,  all  the  other  more  un- 
common and  valuable  qualites  both  of 
mind  and  body  will  raife  their  pofiefibrs 
above  the  ordinary  level,  and  fecure  them 
particular  advantages.  Thus,  property 
will  be  acquired,  will  produce  laws  and 
government  for  its  fecurity,  will  accumu- 
late, will  be  allied  to  magiftracy,  and  in 
confequence  will  enforce  and  augment  the 
natural  inequalities  among  men.  All  thefc 
things  are  in  the  infeparable  relation  of 
caufe  and  effect  to  each  other ;  and  to  ex- 
pect the  firft  without  the  fecond,  or  to  fit 
down  in  fruitlefs  lamentation  that  we  can- 
not have  all  we  wifh,  without  fomewhat 
that  we  diflike,  is  childifh  and  unreafon- 
able. 

Men,  therefore,   by  the  conftitution  of 
their  nature,  will  ever  tend  to  unite  in 


^04  LETTER       XX. 

large  mattes;  and  thefe  mattes  will  fall  intd 
the  grand  diviiions  of  rich  and  poor,  high 
and  loWi  governors  and  governed.  This 
is  abfolutely  unavoidable,  for  even  abol 
ing  at  once  all  the  arts  and  conveniences 
of  civilized  life  would  not  reltore  men  to 
equality.  Difti notions  of  power  and  in- 
fluence fubfifi  in  the  favage  horde  as  well 
as  in  the  luxurious  city.  But  taking  foci- 
ety  with  this  neceffary  condition,  there  is 
ft  ill  ample  room  for  the  operation  of  hu- 
man wifdom  in  increaling  its  advantages 
and  diminishing  its  evils.  Thefe  remedial 
attempts  are  part  of  man's  nature  iikewife ; 
and  they  are  carried  into  effect  by  the  em- 
ployment of  the  very  fame  faculties  which, 
directed  another  way,  have  occaiioned  the 
inconvenience.  If  thefe  are  negligently 
or  unfaithfully  ufed,  the  condition  of  fo- 
ciety  becomes  much  worfe  than  it  might 
have  been.  Thus,  if  inftead  of  counter- 
acting by  civil  regulations  the  firong  ten- 
dency to  inequality,  it  be  favoured  and 
perpetuated  by  them,  every  evil  proceed- 
ing from  this  fource  will,  of  courfe,  be 
aggravated.  And,  in  fact,  the  greateft 
differences  that  we  obferve  in  the  appa- 
rent  happinefs  enjoyed   by  differ**^ 


INEQUALITY    OF    CONDITIONS.  2t>5 

tions,  principally  arife  from  the  tendency 
of  their  political  inftitutions  to  augment 
or  reltrain  the  difparity  of  conditions. 
Every  good  government  contains  in  it  a 
levelling  principle  ;  for  what  is  the  purpofe 
o:  equal  laws,  equal  rights,  equal  oppor- 
tunities of  profiting  by  natural  and  ac- 
quired talents,  but  to  annul  artificial  dif- 
tin&ions,  and  cauie  the  race  of  life  to  be 
run  fairly.  In  return  for  the  protection 
afforded  the  rich,  it  loads  them  with  hea- 
vier proportional  burthens ;  and  it  pro- 
vides fome  legitimate  mode  by  which  the 
will  of  the  many  {hall  make  itfelf  known 
and  refpecled^  in  order  to  counteract  the 
grafping  projects  of  the  few. 

But,  it  may  be  faid,  what,  after  all; 
have  thefe  contrivances  done  ?— Have  they 
in  any  country,  confiderably  advanced  in 
arts  and  commerce,  prevented  thofe  evils 
of  great  inequality  which  you  began  with 
lamenting  ?  Much  lefs,  I  acknowledge, 
has  been  efteded  than  might  have  been 
hoped.  But  before  we  enquire  further 
into  the  profpects  of  future  improvement, 
let  us  reflect  upon  one  thing  that  has  been 
done  for  the  melioration  of  human  life  in 
Gc 


2o6  LETTER       XX. 

its  lowed  form ;  and  this  is,  the  abolition 
of  domeftic  flavery  throughout  all  the  civi- 
lized countries  of  Europe,  Recollect,  that 
in  all  the  ancient  {rates,  which  boafted  the 
moft  loudly  of  their  freedom  and  iJonomy\ 
the  menial  fervant,  the  artifan,  the  culti- 
vator of  the  earth,  was  a  Jlave,  who  held 
life  and  all  its  petty  comforts  at  the  arbi- 
trary pleafure  of  a  fellow-mortal,    often 
brutal,  violent,    and  needy.       Image    to 
yourfelf,  ftreets  refounding  with  the   lafli 
and  the  cries  of  the  tortured — fields  co- 
vered with  herds  of  men  in  chains,  and 
their    drivers- — dungeons     and    racks    in 
every  private  houfe — age  fuffered  to  pe- 
rifh  in  filth  and  famine,   and  youth  the 
prey  of  luft  and  cruelty.     Is  any  thing  on 
this  fide  the  Atlantic  fo  bad  as  fuch  a  ftate  ? 
And  has  not   this  bleffed  change  been  ef- 
fected by  amending  the  principles  and  in- 
forming the  under  Handing  of  men  ? 

We  may  now,  with  hearts  fomewhat 
relieved*  enter  the  clofe  court  and  funlefs 
•alley, 

Where  the  pale  artift  plies  the  fickly  trade  5 

where  the    mechanic,    the   day-labourer, 
and  thofe    employed    in   the   numerous 


INEQUALITY    OF    CONDITIONS,  20J 

vile.,  but  necefiary,  offices  in  a  great  city, 
have  their  abode.  The  fallow  dingy 
countenances,  uncombed  locks,  and  beg- 
garly apparel  of  thefe  people,  difguft 
your  fenfes,  and  their  manners  equally 
{hock  your  moral  feelings.  You  fhrink 
back,  and  are  almoft  ready  to  renounce 
the  relationfhip  of  a  common  nature  with 
fuch  beings,  The  idea  of  their  prefent 
and  future  exiitence  makes  you  (liudder, 
and  all  the  fplendours  of  opulence  which 
ihine  at  the  expence  of  fo  much  wretch- 
ednefs,  are  dimmed  in  your  eyes.  But 
when  you  confider  that  thefe  are  the  re- 
prefentatives  of  half  a  million  of  human 
beings  in  this  metropolis — that  fuch  they 
ever  have  been,  not  only  here,  but  in 
every  other  feat  of  arts  and  commerce — 
you  will  be  almoll  compelled  to  conclude, 
that  their  cafe  cannot  be  fo  bad  as  it  feems. 
Far,  far  be  it  from  me  to  infult  poverty 
by  declaiming  on  its  advantages  I  We 
have  had  too  much  of  that  cant.  It  is 
impoiuble  honeuly  to  fuppofe  that  the 
perfons  I  have  been  defcribing,  enjoy  an 
equal  (hare  of  the  comforts  of  this  life, 
however  philofophicaliy  we  eflimate  thpfe 
Cc  2 


2o8 


LETTER       XX 


comforts.  But  I  can  never  bring  myfelf 
to  believe,  that  the  neceffary  condition  of  a 
-majority  of  the  human  race  is  a  decidedly 
wretched  one.  With  refpect  to  thofe  I 
am  now  considering,  a  great  proportion  of 
them  certainly  are  not  deflitute  of  a  va- 
riety of  the  things  that  make  life  de- 
firable 

Survey  them  more  clofely.  They  have 
a  home,  a  family,  kindred,  neighbours, 
converfe,  rights,  a  certain  liberty  of  ac- 
tion, and  no  inconfiderable  {hare  of  fen- 
fual  gratifications.  The  circumftances 
that  difgufi:  you  in  beholding  them,  do 
not  difguil  themfelves— habit  has  rendered 
them  callous  to  the  evils  of  dirt  and  tatters. 
When  I  acknowledge  that  it  has  alfo  made 
them  infenfible  to  moral  depravity,  I  per- 
haps confefs  no  more  than  would  be  true 
of  the  modes  of  life  in  the  higheft  ranks 
of  fociety.  Their  vices  are,  indeed,  grofs 
and  obvious;  but  you,  I  am  fure,  are  not 
one  of  thofe  who  eftimate  the  noxious 
qualities  of  a  vice  chiefly  from  its  groff- 
nefs.  They  have  their  virtues  too,  and 
of  a  kind  as  undifguifed  as  their  vices. 
They  are  ever  ready  to  help  one  another 
in  difbrefs,  and  loudly  unite   in  decrying 


INEQUALITY    OF    CONDITIONS.  '2og 

every  thing  unmanly,  cruel,  and  villain- 
ous. 

Still,  their  condition  is  attended  with 
many  ferious  evils,  which,  if  they  can  be 
remedied,  certainly  ought  to  be  ;  for  to  the 
happinefs  of  fo  large  a  portion  of  fociety, 
every  other  confideration  ought  to  give 
way.  But  in  order  to  produce  any  fa- 
vourable change,  it  is  firft  requifite  to  dif- 
tinguilh  the  neccjfary  circumftances  of  their 
fituation,  from  the  cafuaL  The  neceliary, 
are  thofe  connected  with  that  inferiority  of 
ilation  which,  I  have  attempted  to  {hew, 
muft  be  the  condition  of  a  majority  in  all 
human  focieties,  and  more  efpecially  in 
thofe  where  the  powers  of  the  mind  are 
moil  cultivated.  I  am  of  opinion,  there- 
fore, that  it  is  not  in  the  power  of  merely 
political  inftitutions  to  do  more  for  the  ad- 
vantage of  the  lower  clafTes,  than  fecure 
them  from  oppreflion,  and  prevent  their 
interefts  from  being  facrificed  to  the  ava- 
rice and  ambition  of  the  higher.  Whe- 
ther this  can  be  done  much  more  effec- 
tually than  is  already  done  by  the  conffi- 
tution  of  our  own  country,  I  (hall  not 
enquire  ;  but  I  am  ready  to  confefs,  that 
my  expectations  of  benefit  are  not  turned 


210  LETTER       XX. 

towards  changes  in  that  quarter.     It  is  on 
the  removal  of  fome  of  the  cafual  evils  at- 
tending the   condition   of  the  poor,  that 
my  hopes  of  feeing  the    world    happier 
chiefly  depend;    among  which  I    reckon 
grofs    ignorance,    bad  morals,  and  perni- 
cious habits.     That  it  is  within  the  reach 
of  human  induftry  to  produce  great  amend- 
ment in  thefe  particulars,  and  that,  even  in 
a  metropolis  fo  enormous  and  licentious  as 
this,  I  no  more  doubt,  than  that  all  remain- 
ing flavery  might  be  abolifhed,  as  the  pari 
has  been.     A  comparifon  of  different  na- 
tions and  focieties,    already    affords    full 
demonstration  of  the  great  differences  in 
this  refpecl  that   different  care  and   ma- 
nagement   will    create.       The  labouring 
claries  of  all  towns  are  not  left  ignorant 
of  every  principle  of  religion  and  morality, 
and  void  of  all  encouragement  to  praclife 
economy  and  the  decencies  of  life.     To 
the  di  I  grace  of  this  enlightened  country, 
it  has  been  one  of  the  moft  remifs  in  at- 
tentions of  this  fort ;  but  I  truft  a  fpirit  is 
awakened  which   will  fuffer  it  to  be  fo  no 
longer.      In  promoting  a  reform  of  this 
kind,    every  man,   however  contracted  his 
fphere  of  action,    is  able  to  advance  the 


INEQUALITY    OF    CONDITIONS.  211 

public  good ;  but  efpecially,  thofe  who 
have  devoted  themfelves  to  the  improve- 
ment of  morals,  poffefs  both  the  ability 
and  the  influence  requifite  for  the  work. 
To  you,  who  even  during  the  courfe  of 
your  education  exhibited  an  ardent  zeal  in 
this  caufe,  I  need  not  recommend  it  fur- 
ther, than  by  expreffmg  my  confidence 
that  your  attempts  will  not  fail  of  fuccefs, 
if  not  fo  much  as  you  would  wifh,  per- 
haps more  than  you  would  expect.  Evils, 
no  doubt,  moral  and  natural,  will  remain 
as  long  as  the  world  remains ;  but  the  cer- 
tainty of  the  perpetual  exiftence  of  vice,  is 
no  more  an  argument  againft  attempting 
to  correct  it,  than  the  fame  certainty  with 
refpecl:  to  difeafe,  is  a  reafon  againft  exer- 
citing  the  art  of  medicine. 

Adieu' 


(      212      ) 


LETTER      XXL 


ON  THE  PREVALENCE  OF  TRUTH. 


DEAR  SON, 

41  Truth  is  mighty  and  will  prevail," 
is  the  axiom  that  for  ages  has  adminifter^ 
ed  confolation  to  thofe  reafoners,  whofe 
efforts  in  a  favourite  caufe  have  not  been 
crowned  with  prefent  fuccefs.  That  the 
foundation  of  this  axiom  is  folid,  I  am  by 
no  means  inclined  to  difpute  ;  and  far  be 
it  from  me  to  attempt  extinguifhing  that 
hope,  which  has  prevented  fo  many  gene- 
rous friends  of  mankind  from  finking  into 
defpondency.  Yet  if  its  application  have 
in  any  inftances  led  to  expectations  which 
probably  can  never  be  realifed,  or  if  a 
confident  reliance  upon  it  have  damped  the 
ardour  of  due  exertion,  it  may  be  ufeful  to 
reduce  it  within  the  limits  of  ftricl:  reality. 
In  fact,  the  affertion  that   "  truth  muft  al- 


PREVALENCE    OF    TRUTH.  21 3 

ways  finally  prevail,"  appears  to  me  much 
too  general,  and  not  to  be  acquiefced  in 
without  many  diftindions  and  limitations. 
The  grounds  of  fome  of  thefe  will  be  the 
iubjed  of  my  prefent  letter. 

Of  the  obftacles  to  the  prevalence  of 
truth,  there  are  fome  apparently  fo  con- 
nected with  the  nature  and  condition  of 
man,  that  a1  majority  of  the  fpecies  muft 
ever  labour  under  their  influence.  Such 
are,  efpecially,  thole  proceeding  from  the 
operation  of  ungoverned  paflions  and  de- 
iires,  during  which  the  mind  is  never  per- 
mitted to  exercife  that  calm  judgment 
which  is  absolutely  necefTary  for  the  inves- 
tigation of  truth.  Every  fubjed  which 
firongly  excites  the  emotions  of  hope  and 
fear,  is  liable  to  this  caufe  of  error.  The 
medium  through  which  it  is  viewed,  is  fo 
ruffled,  that  it  tranfmits  all  objeds  falfe 
and  diitorted.  In  cafes  like  thefe,  the^^- 
cies  receives  no  improvement,  and  each  /«- 
dividual  has  the  whole  procefs  of  meliora- 
tion to  go  through  for  himfelf.  He  muft  by 
his  own  exertions  acquire  the  due  regula- 
tion of  his  heart,  as  much  as  the  free  ufe 
of  his  limbs,  and  the  attainments  o£  his 
Dd 


214  LETTER       XXr, 

predecefibrs  afford  him  no  aflidance.  As  a 
man  born  in  the  eighteenth  century  is  no 
better  able  to  endure  cold,  hunger,  and 
fatigue,  than  one  born  in  the  firft,  fo  nei- 
ther can  he  better  refill  the  impreflions  of 
terror  and  defire. 

Now,  many  of  thofe  fubjecls  in  which 
falfe  opinions  are  mod  prevalent,  lay  fuch 
hold  on  the  weak  parts  of  man,  his  paflions 
and  affeclions,  that  he  is  in  general  incapa- 
citated from  making  proper  ufe  of  the  ex- 
perience of  pad  ages,  and  feems  doomed 
to  run  a  perpetual  round  of  the  fame  fol- 
lies and  miflakes.  This  is  the  caufe  why 
reafon  has  not  been  able  to  do  more  in 
abolifhing  fuperdition.  Various  fpecies 
of  it  have  cccahonally  been  rendered  un- 
fafhionable  by  ridicule  or  detection  ;  but 
the  principle  itfelf  flill  keeps  its  hold  in 
the  human  bread,  ready  to  feize  every 
opportunity  of  regaining  all  the  influence 
it  may  have  lod.  In  countries  the  mod 
enlightened  by  fcience  and  letters,  it  is 
wonderful  how  much  fuperdition  is  con- 
da  ntly  lurking  among  the  vulgar  of  al 
ranks,  .nay,  among  the  enlightened  them- 
felves :  for  where  the  temper  difpofes  to 
it,  both  learning  and  fcience  may  be  made 


PREVALENCE    OF    TRUTH.  11$ 

to  afford  additional  materials  for  it  to 
work  upon.  A  faith  in  omens,  proprie- 
ties, and  horofcopes,  in  fortunate  names 
and  numbers,  in  warnings  and  apparitions, 
in  fupernatural  cures,  and  other  fraudulent 
pretenfions  refpeclingthe  principal  objects 
of  hope  and  fear,  is  no  more  likely  at  the 
prefent  day  to  be  eradicated,  than  it  was 
at  any  former  period.  Reafon  has  no 
greater  power  over  thefe  delufions,  than 
the  Roman  fenate  had  over  the  influence 
of  the  Chaldean  foothfayers :  Genus  ho- 
minum  (fays  Tacitus)  quod  in  civitate 
noftra  et  vetabitur  femper,  et  retinebitur." 
It  has  rendered  them  in  a  certain  degree 
difcreditable,  and  reduced  them  to  ope- 
rate more  in  fecret  than  formerly,  and 
more  individuals  have  been  freed  from 
their  fway ;  but  he  mult  know  little  of  the 
actual  flate  of  things,  who  fuppofes  their 
prefent  influence  to  be  inconhderable,  or, 
perhaps,  diminifliing.  It  might,  indeed, 
be  imagined,  that  caufes  which  had  gra- 
dually been  producing  a  certain  eftecl, 
might  confidently  be  expected  to  go  on 
producing  it  in  a  greater  and  greater  de- 
gree; but  I  fear  this  will  not  be  found  tq 
Dd  2 


>2l6  LETTU       XXI, 

correfpond  with  the  real  march  of  human 
affairs,  which,  in  many  cafes,  more  re- 
fembles  the  motion  of  a  pendulum,  which, 
having  fwung  to  a  certain  height,  thence- 
forth moves  in  a  contrary  direction.  Thus 
It  feems  as  if  fuperftition,  after  having  been 
weakened  by  the  repeated  attacks  of  wits 
and  philofophers,  was  at  prefent  recover- 
ing 'its  ftrength.  It  has  obvioufly  met 
with  encouragement  from  perfons  of  fome 
note,  who  have  probably  feen  a  connexion 
between  that  ftate  of  mind  which  mak&s 
men  fubmiflive  to  fuperftitious  belief,  and 
the  docility  necelTary  for  the  reception  of 
fyftems  of  faith  which  they  were  interefted 
in  fupporting.  Myfteries  of  all  forts  are 
allied,  and  one  formula  of  arguing  ferves 
equally  in  favour  of  all — u  Becaufe  there 
are  certain  truths  which  you  cannot  help 
admitting,  though  apparently  contradic- 
tory to  reafon  and  analogy,  you  have  no 
right  to  object  to  thofe  who  offer  you  on 
the  ground  of  fuch  contradiction."  Thus 
all  a  priori  concluhons  concerning  truth 
and  falfehood  are  intercepted,  and  man- 
kind are  left  to  contend  in  each  individual 
cafe  with  the  artifices  of  fophifm  and  im- 
pofture. 


PREVALENCE    OF    TRUTH.  21 7 

I  have  often  thought  it  a  very  hazardous 
mode  of  argument  which  the  friends  of 
religion,  even  the  more  rational,  have 
been  accuftomed  to  ufe  in  their  controver- 
sies with  unbelievers.  "  If  (fay  they) 
there  be  no  providence,  no  future  Hate, 
no  obligation  to  divine  worfhip,  you  mutt, 
however,  acknowledge  that  no  danger  can 
enlue  from  acting  as  if  there  were.  But 
if,  on  the  contrary,  thefe  things  are  real, 
we  hold  that  there  is  the  greateft  of  all 
dangers  in  acting  as  if  they  were  not." 
Coniider  what  ufe  may  be  made  of  this 
kind  of  reafoning  by  papifts  again  ft  pro- 
teftants,  and  by  the  narrower  feels  of  the 
latter  againit  the  more  liberal.  "  You  ac- 
knowledge that  a  man  may  be  faved  in 
our  church  if  his  intentions  are  upright, 
and  his  morals  pure  ;  but  we  deny  that  ial- 
vation  is  poftible  in  yours  on  any  condi- 
tions. Common  prudence  mould  there- 
fore induce  you  to  adopt  that  which  both 
parties  allow  to  be  fafe,  rather  than  that 
•which  one  alone,  (perhaps  the  moft  nume- 
rous) thinks  to  be  fo."  By  thus  in 
ducing  prudential  confiderations  into  quef- 
t  ions  of  truth,  feels,  in  order  to  gain  pro- 
felytes,    are    encouraged     to    become   as 


CL 1 8  LETTER       XXI. 

and  uncharitable  as  poflible, 
arid  to  aim  at  frightening  men  into  their 
row  pale  as  the  only  place  of  refuge, 
This,  in  fact,  is  an  advantage  which  bi- 
gotry has  long  poffeded,  and  probably  will 
ever  poffefs,  over  moderation.  ExclufTve 
pretentions,  whether  refpe&ing  this  world 
or  another,  will  ever  find  powerful  fup- 
ports  in  the  hopes  and  fears  of  mankind ; 
and  he  who  addreffes  both  thefe  pamons 
will  act  with  double  the  power  of  him  who 
applies  only  to  one. 

For  a  fimilar  reafon,  all  thofe  fyftems  of 
faith  which  offer  men  eternal  felicity  upon 
eafier  terms  than  their  own  endeavours — * 
that  fhift,  as  it  were  the  load  of  refponfi- 
bility  from  them,  upon  characters  of  myf- 
terious  dignity,  who  are  to  be  repaid  by 
the  cheap  fervices  of  unbounded  homage 
arid  adoration — that  inculcate  fears  which 
no  confcious  rectitude  can  calm,  and  nou- 
rifh  hopes  that  no  felf-examination  can 
warrant,  will  fcarcely  fail  of  rendering 
themfelves  acceptable  to  the  multitude, 
fo  long  as  they  are  fupported  by  fatisfac- 
iory  authority.  And  how  is  this  autho- 
rity, once  received,  to  be  fhaken  ?  If  it 
;.nd  en  hifiorical  evidence,  can  a  whole 


PREVALENCE    OF    TRUTH.  21 g 

people  be  expected  to  enter  into  an  exa- 
mination of  events  believed  at  the  time  of 
their  palling,  and  delivered  down  unques- 
tioned through  many  generations  of  their 
anceltors  ?  Is  not  this  continuity  of  be- 
lief the  belt  evidence  they  pofieis  for  the 
truth  of  all  their  national  records?  If  it 
xefer  to  interpretation,  will  not  the  fame 
arguments  which  have  determined  the 
neral  fenfe  of  a  writing  in  times  pall,  con- 
tinue to  operate  in  any  future  attempts  to 
interpret  it  ?  I  fuppoie,  in  this  cafe, 
fame  fair  intentions,  and  the  fame  colla- 
teral aids,  to  exift  in  both  periods. 

But  nations  have,  in  fact,  changed  tl. 
fyflems.  They  have;  but  not,  I  con- 
ceive, from  the  unaided  operation  of  rea  • 
fon  and  argument.  In  all  remarkable 
changes  of  this  kind,  we  mall  difcover, 
befides  the  more  immediate  interference 
of  divine  power,  fuch  a  concurrence  of 
circumftances,  as  was  capable  of  a  coercive 
action  upon  men's  minds,  and  which  can- 
not at  pleafure  be  renewed  by  thole  who 
may  wifh  to  produce  (imilar  effects. 

For  the  capability  of  receiving  truth, 
there  mull  always  be  certain  preparations. 
I  do   not  reckon  freedom  from  error  ©ne 


226  LETTER       XXU 

of  thefe,  for  then  truth  would  be  able-1 
lutely  unattainable  ;  no  man  being  without 
falfe  opinions,  who  had  not  already  im- 
bibed true  ones.  But  I  mean  certain  qua- 
lities moral  and  intellectual ;  which-  beftow 
a  fitnefs  to  be  acled  upon  by  argument. 
One  of  the  mod  eflential  of  thefe,  is  the 
fair  honeft  defire  of  difcovering  the  truth, 
and  following  whitherfoever  it  may  lead. 
But  how  large  a  portion  of  mankind  is 
precluded  from  this  ftate  by  previoufly 
determined  interefts  and  partialities  !  How 
few,  even  among  the  pretended  enquirers 
after  truth,  can  fay  with  the  ever-memorable 
John  Hales,  U  For  this,  I  have  forefaken 
all  hopes,  all  friends,  all  denies,  which 
might  bias  me,  and  hinder  me  from  driv- 
ing right  at  what  I  aimed."  On  the  con- 
trary, are  we  not  very  fure,  that  when 
perfons  of  certain  defcriptions  engage  in 
what  they  call  an  inveftigation  of  truth, 
they  have  before  hand  decided  what  con- 
clufions  to  eitablifh,  and  without  fuch  a 
decinon  would  never  have  undertaken  the 
talk? 

Further,  how  much  diligence,  how 
much  rtudy,  what  freedom  from  diflrac- 
tions,  what  renunciation  of  common  plea- 


PREVALENCE    OF    TRUTH.  221 

fures  and  purfuits,  are  not  neceTTai  y  for  the 
iuccefsful    fearch   after    truth!    It   can  be 
little  lefs  than  the  whole  bufinefs  of  a  man's 
..  life — u  Vitam    impendere  vero."     Ought 
we  then  to  blame  the  ancient  philofophers 
when  they  limited  the  power  of  acquiring 
intellectual  truth  to  a  few,  and   propofed 
it  as  the  noble  prize  to  be  contended    for 
by  a  number   felected  from   the    vulgar  ? 
Truth  of  no  kind  is    of  eafy    acquifition 
— that  truth,   I  mean,    which  is  the  refult 
of  examination;    for  true  opinion    Hum- 
bled upon  by  chance,  and  only  by  follow- 
ing the  authority  of  great   names,    is  no 
certain  pofTeflion,   and    will    readily   give 
place  to  error   more     highly  patronized. 
Truth  in  fcience  is  only  arrived  at  by  la- 
borious experiment  and  patient  deduction. 
Hiftorical  truth  requires  for  its  inveftiga- 
tion  perfecl  impartiality,   and  an  acquaint- 
ance with  every  poffible  inlet  to  fraud  and 
miflake.       Moral  truth    demands    a   heart 
capable  of  feeling  it.     Religious  truth   is 
not  attained  without  an  union  of  the  re- 
quiiites  for  all  the  other  fpecies  of  truth. 
Have  we,  then,  any  well-grounded  reafon 
to  hope  that  the  majoritv  of  mankind   will 
Ee 


22*2  LETTER       XXI. 

ever  come  to  a  general  perception  d£ 
What  is  fo  obfcured  by  difficulties  in  the 
detail  ? 

If  you  fliould  think  the  doctrine  of  this 
letter  fomewhat  inconfiRent  with  my  for- 
mer one  On  the  purfuit  of  Improvement, 
tfecbllcct,-  that  the  tenor  of  that  was  to 
fhew  the  natural  progrefs  towards  perfec- 
tion in  every  practical  art  on  which  the 
human  faculties  are  in  earneit  employed — 
and  the  advantage  to  be  derived  from  that 
reference  to  general  principles  which  is 
properly  termed  philofophy.  To  free  men 
from  thofe  weaknevTes  of  their  nature 
which  oppofe  the  admiffion  of  abftract 
truth,  is  a  very  different  attempt ;  which, 
however,  is  not  to  be  given  up  in  defpair 
becaufe  it  cannot  be  fo  fuccefsful  as  we 
fliould  wifh. 

Truth  will  prevail — how  far  ?  As  far 
as  it  is  purfued  with  a  proper  temper,  and 
by  peifons  properly  qualified.  Place  be- 
fore fuch  men  an  object  of  controverfy 
capable  Of  being  decided,  and  be  allured 
that  it  will  finally  be  decided  according  to 
truth.  But  that  falfe  opinions  on  fubjects 
which  warmly  intereft  the  paflions  of  man* 
kind  will  ever  ceafe  to  fway  the  multitude, 


PREVALENCE    OF    TRUTH. 

is  what  I  dare  not  promife  myfelf.  A  fin- 
gular  example  of  the  different  fitnefs  of 
different  men  to  receive  truth  is  afforded 
by  the  modern  impofture  of  Animal  Mag- 
netifm.  When  its  pretenfions  were  fub- 
mitted  to  a  board  of  philofophers  in  France, 
its  futility  was  clearly  and  unanimoufly 
efrablifhed.  Still,  however,  that  clais 
who  are  the  proper  fubjects  of  decep- 
tion were  deluded  by  its  bold  promifes, 
and  myfterious  reafonings;  and  am< 
them  the  delufion  in  fome  meafure  ftill 
fubtills.  It  cannot,  however,  (land  long  ; 
but  its  votaries  will  remain  jufl  as  prone 
as  before  to  fall  into  another  plaulible  de- 
Jufion. 

Meantime,  fuch  is  the  iutriniic  value  of 
truth,  that  no  other  encouragement  is 
wanted  to  animate  to  the  vigorous  purfuit 
of  it,  than  the  diftant  hope  of  attaining  it 
for  ourfelves,  and  propagating  it  among  a 
fele&few;  for  in  facl,  of  all  the  diffi 
ences  between  mortals,  the  different  de- 
cree in  which  they  are  poffeffors  of  truth 
is  incomparably  the  greateit.  Nor  can  it 
be  doubted  that  a  large  mare  of  it  is  within 
reach  of  man,  though  net  of  all  wen* 
Ee    2 


224  LETTER       XXI. 

Like  the  innoculation  of  the  fmall  pox,  it 
confers  iridifputable  benefits  on  thofe  who 
receive  it ;  yet  too  few  will  probably  ever 
receive  it  to  produce  ftriking  effects  upon 
the  whole  fpecies.  Let  truth  be  fairly 
offered  to  the  world  without  the  veil  of 
myftery,  in  her  own  naked  radiance.  If 
the  world  fail  to  recognize  her,  and  leave 
her  to  a  few  enamoured  votaries,  let  them 
confole  themfelves  with  the  afiurance  that 
Truth,  like  Virtue,  is  her  own  reward. 

Farewell ! 


(     225     ) 


LETTER    XXII, 


pN  SECOND  THOUGHTS  AND  MIDDLE  COURSES. 


DEAR  SON, 

41  Second  Thoughts  are  bed,"  fays  a 
frequently-quoted  proverb.  Confidered 
as  a  prudential  maxim,  its  truth,  I  believe, 
cannot  be  controverted;  for  there  are  few 
points  of  evil  to  be  avoided  or  advantage 
to  be  gained,  in  which  mature  delibera- 
tion is  not  better  than  hafty  decifion.  But 
that  they  are  iefty  in  the  fenfe  of  being 
more  conformable  to  moral  or  natural 
truth,  in  my  opinion,  is  fo  far  from  rea- 
lity, that  I  mould  more  readily  acquiefce 
in  a  proportion  nearly  the  reverfe — that 
firft  impreflions  are  moil  to  be  relied  on. 
This,  however,  I  do  not  mean  to  aftert 
without  limitation. 

Where  a  mind  is  well-prepared  for  the 
reception  of  truth,  by  rectitude  of  inten- 


20,6  LETTER       XXIi, 

rion,  and  a  habit  of  accurately  conceiving 
what  is  prefented  to  it,  a  queftion  of  mo- 
ral conduct  is  almod:  always  belt  decided 
by  the  feelings  immediately  confequent 
upon  ftating  the  cafe  ;  and  after-thoughts, 
in  fuch  inftances,  are  ufually  the  fophiltry 
of  felf-intereit  or  partiality.  I  afk  myfelf, 
fhali  1  make  a  folemn  profeflion  of  what 
I  do  not  believe.  No  !  (cries  indignantly 
Firft  Feeling) — better  to  fiarve !  Come 
(fays  Second  Thought)  let  us  conlider  the 
matter  calmly  ;  for  there  are  many  reafons 
why  it  would  be  convenient  to  make  this 
profeflion.  Examine  its  words — fee  if 
they  will  bear  no  other  fenfe  than  the  moft 
obvious.  At  any  rate,  will  not  the  end 
juftify  the  means?  It  then  begins  its  in- 
genious operations,  and,  in  conciuhon,  the 
thing  is  done. 

1  have  promifed  a  man  my  fupport— 
{hall  I  keep  my  word  ? — Certainly  V  Can 
you  doubt  it  ?  Would  you  be  a  rafcalV— 
But  I  wifh  I  could  difengage  myfelf,  for 
really  I  do  not  like  the  man.'  His  politics 
or  religion  are  different  from  what  I  took 
them  to  be ;  and  I  mould  do  more  good 
by  difcouraging  him.  Beiides,  .  every 
promife  is  by  its  very  nature  conditional. 


SECOND    THOUGHTS,     £sV.  5$j 

and  he  has  virtually  broken  his  part  of 
the  conditions. — Indeed!  then  ufe  your 
difcretion.  % 

In  this  manner  it  is  that  every  triumph, 
ill  a  heart  not  totally  vitiated,  is  gained  by 
cowardice,  meannefs  and  felfifhnefs,  over 
fpirit,  honour,  and  generohty.  Confci- 
ence  is  never  dilatory  in  her  warnings. 
She  pronounces  clearly  and  inftantly,  and 
her  firft  voice  is  the  true  oracle.  By  pro- 
lix and  varied  repetitions  of  the  quefiion, 
with  foreign  circumftances  introduced  for 
the  purpofe  of  perplexing,  the  refponfe 
may  at  length  be  rendered  almoft  any- 
thing we  wifh  it,  and  confcience  may  be 
cheated  into  acquiefcence  in  the  moil  abo- 
minable conclufions.  It  is  thus,  that  in 
our  corporeal  mechanifm,  a  deleterious 
fubftance  taken  into  the  itomach,  excites 
inftant  and  violent  efforts  for  its  expulhon  ; 
but  after  a  due  repetition  of  dofes,  pro- 
perly proportioned  and  combined,  the 
ilimulus  ceafes  to  be  felt,  and  abhorrent 
nature  becomes  reconciled  to  the  inftru- 
ment  of  her  deftruclion. 

It  was  upon  the  fyftem  of  Second 
Thoughts  that  the  famous  morality  of  the 
Jefuits  was  founded.     They  eftablifhed  it 


228  LETTER 


XXII, 


as  a  rule,  that  in  a  cafe  of  conference,  if  a 
■probable  opinion,  or  one  fupported  bv  the 
authority  of  a  fingle  grave  doctor,  could 
be  brought  in  favour  of  inclination,  againil 
an  opinion  confefTedly  more  probable,  it 
was  fufficient  to  juitify  a  determination 
conformable  to  it.  And  they  took  good 
care  that  their  cafuifts  fhould  be  furniflied 
with  probable  opinions  of  all  forts  for  the 
ufe  of  thofe  who  put  their  confeiences  un- 
der the  direction  of  the  fociety.  The 
following  edifying  ftory  is  related  by  one 
of  their  graveit  fathers,  from  whom  it  is 
copied  in  the  celebrated  Provincial  Letters. 
11  A  man  who  was  carrying  a  large  fum  of 
money  in  order  to  make  reftitution  by 
command  of  his  confefTor,  called  at  a 
bookfeller's  (hop  by  the  way,  and  afking 
if  they  had  any  thing  new,  was  fliewn  a 
nezv  fyftem  of  Moral  Theology.  Turning 
over  the  leaves  careleffly,  he  happened  to 
light  on  his  own  cafe,  and  found  that  he 
was  riot  obliged  to  reftitution  ;  fo  that 
having  got  rid  of  the  burthen  of  his  fcru- 
ple,  and  retaining  the  burthen  of  his  mo- 
ney, he  returned  home  lighter  than  he 
went  out."  Such  lucky  occafions-  of  fe- 
cond  thought,   the  pious   author  attribute.-: 


skdotob  thoughts,   tst,  229 

to  the  fpecial  interference  of  God's  provi- 
dence, by  the  miniftry  of  a  man's  guar- 
dian angel. 

The   fpeedieft  decifions   of    Reafon,  as 
well  as  of  Conscience,  are  frequently  the 
foundeft.      Extravagant    projects^     abfurd 
propoiitions,  impudent  preteniions,  are  re- 
jected with  fcorn  when  firit  offered  to  the 
mind  ;  and  it  is  only  in  confequence  of  re- 
hearings,  at  which  fraud  and  fophiiiry  are 
advocates,   with   wiles,    like    th'ofe  of  Co- 
mus,    u  baited  with   reafons    not    unplau- 
iible,"    that  they  at  length  work  their  way. 
Many  high  claims  there  are   upon  our  ac- 
quielcence,  which  the  foul  of  man   would 
i'purn  with  contempt  and  loathing,   did   it 
abide  by  its  fpontaneous  decifions.   It  may 
be  affirmed  to  have  been    the  chief  bufi- 
nefs  of  fcliolaftic  learning  for  many  ages, 
to  llirle  this  voice  of  imbiafled  reafon,  and 
inure    men  to    form   determinations  con- 
trary  to    firit    convictions.       How   many 
mighty  volumes  could  I  point  but  to  you, 
the  whole  purpofe  of  which  is  to  reconcile 
the   mind  to  fome  manifelt  contradiction, 
or  to  difprove    fome   felf-evident    truth ! 
I  remember  to  have  read,  that  in  the  con- 
Ff 


2:»<J  LETTER       XXII, 


dernnation  of  fome  Janfenifl  book,  the 
Heretical  proportions  were  fo  injudicioufly 
felecled,  that  a  great  prince,  into  whofc 
hands  they  were  put,  miftook  them  for  ar- 
ticles of  faith,  and  was  edified  by  the  per- 
ufal.  Can  it  be  doubted  that  here  the 
text  was  nearer  the  truth  than  the  com- 
ment, and  that  the  prince  judged  better 
-than  the  doctors?  I  have  known  in- 
stances, in  which  pofitions  felecled  out  of 
a  political  work  for  the  purpofe  of  obtain- 
ing its  judicial  condemnation,  have  af- 
fected impartial  readers  in  a  fimilar  man- 
ner. 

By  thefe  obfervations,  however,  I  am 
far  from  withing  to  inculcate  a  hafty  de- 
cinon  on  controverted  points  in  general. 
Where  the  queftion  relates  to  matter  of 
facl,  a  very  patient  inveftigation  is  fre- 
quently neceflary.  Where  it  concerns  a 
matter  of  expedience,  it  cannot  be  fafely 
decided  without  minutely  balancing  its 
probable  advantages  and  difadvantages, 
and  confulting  pad  experience  in  fimilar 
cafes.  But  where  it  refers  to  principles, 
and  muft  be  tried  by  its  conformity  with 
certain  notions,  if  not  innate,  at  leaf! 
early  and  very  generally  admitted  into  the 


SECOND    THOUGHTS,    &C.  2ji 

human  bread,  it  is  probably  bell  judged 
of  when  prefented  naked  to  the  mind,  un- 
mixed with  extraneous  conliderations,  and 
with  no  other  preparation  than  to  render  it 
perfectly  intelligible. 

"  The  middle  way  is  the  fafefl,"  lays 
another  common  proverb.  If  this  was 
adopted  from  the  "  medio  tutiilimus  ibis" 
of  Ovid,  it  mould  have  been  remembered 
that  his  was  a  particular  precept,  not  a  ge- 
neral maxim.  In  reality,  the  middie 
courfe  is  very  often  the  worit  that  can  be 
followed  in  affairs  of  the  world,  combin- 
ing the  inconveniences,  and  milling  the 
advantages  of  the  two  extremes.  It  is 
commonly  the  paltry  expedient  of  weak- 
nefs  and  indecilion  to  get  over  p relent 
difficulties,  by  declining  inilead  of  con- 
fronting them — a  coinpromife  between 
right  and  wrong,  between  wifdom  and 
folly,  between  enterprize  and  indolence, 
which  generally  meets  with  the  fate  of  im- 
becility. In  molt  emergencies,  two  directly 
oppolite  fy  items  of  action  prefent  them- 
selves to  our  choice.  Each  has  its  appro- 
priate character,  its  favourable  and  unfa- 
vourable circumltances.  Each  may  fuc- 
Ff  2 


<2y2  LETTER       XXII. 

ceed  ;  but"  only  when  followed  fully  and 
decidedly.  Every  leaning  towards  its  op- 
pofite  adds  to  its  difficulties,  and  endangers 
its  failure.  This  cannot  be  better  illuf- 
trated  than  by  military  tranfactions.  A  Ge- 
neral finds  himfelf  unexpectedly  in  face  of 
a  fuperiror  enemy.  He  has  no  choice  but 
to  fight  or  retire;  but  the  movements  for 
each  are  incompatible  ;  one  requires  bold 
advance,  the  other  filent  retreat.  One, 
however,  appears  to  him  too  hazardous, 
and  the  other  too  difgraceful.  He  there- 
fore takes  a  middle  courfe,  in  confequence 
of  which  he  fights  to  no  purpofe,  and  his 
retreat  is  intercepted. 

One  cannot  be  at  all  converfant  with 
bufinefs,  without  feeing  perpetual  inftances 
cf  the  mifchief  done  by  this  fpirit  of 
throwing  in  a  little  of  this,  and  a  little  of 
that,  in  order  to  fecure  a  medium.  A  per- 
fon  in  a  public  affembly  propofes  a  vigor- 
ous meafure,  and  after  fome  oppofition, 
carries  it.  Some  weak  friend  or  defign- 
ing  foe,  upon  the  plea  of  preventing  ex- 
tremes, then  offers  a  few  modifications  and 
reftriciions,  of  a  nature  directly  fubver- 
five  of  the  purpofe  intended  to  be  anfwered 
by  the  firfr  mover;    and  thefe,  for  the  fake 


SECOND    THOUGHTS,    &C.  £33 

of  accommodation,  are  affented  to  by  the 
majority ;  thus  the  whole  fcheme  is  ren- 
dered ineffectual.  In  a  fimilar  fpirit,  ar- 
bitrators fplit  a  difference,  and  do  juftice 
to  neither  party — -juries  bring  in  verdicts 
which  determine  nothing,  and  leave  the 
court  to  act  as  it  pleafes — coni'ultations  of 
learned  phyficians  neutralize  their  plans  fo 
as  to  do  neither  good  nor  harm — and  di- 
vines play  off  one  virtue  again (1  another, 
till  they  make  their  hearers  indifferent  to 
both. 

Truth  may,  perhaps,  in  general,  lie 
iomewhere  within  oppolite  extremes  ;  but 
it  is  grofs  weaknefs  to  expecl  to  find  it  by 
the  mechanical  operation  of  bifecting  a 
line,  or  calculating  an  average.  Even  in 
cafes  where  we  are  Jure  that  the  two  ex- 
tremes are  erroneous,  as  in  the  reprefen- 
fation  of  the  fame  character  by  adverfe 
parties,  it  is  a  futile  method  of  judging  of 
particular  actions,  to  balance  the  contrary 
motives  to  which  they  have  been  attri- 
buted, and  ftrike  a  medium.  It  is  not  in 
this  manner  that  good  and  evil  are  com- 
pounded in  mankind. 

The   controverfialiir   who   think:,     by 


$34  LETTER       XXII* 

adopting  fomewhat  from  one  fyftem  and 
fomewhat  from  another,  to  fix  himfelf  on 
firm  ground,  and  hold  oppofite  parties  in 
refpecl,  will  generally  find  that  he  has 
united  both  againft  him,  and  has  weaken- 
ed his  defences  on  either  part.  I  could 
adduce  many  inftances  to  fhew  you,  that 
in  the  contefts  of  theological  polemics, 
tke  middle  way  is  as  far,  as  it  is  in  real 
warfare,  from  being  the  fafefl.  The  acute 
Chillingworth  could  not  find  a  barrier 
againft  Popery,  till  he  had  eftablifhed  as  a 
fundamental  maxim,  that  the  Bible  is  the 
only  ground  of  the  religion  of  P rot ejl ants.  He 
perceived,  that  if  church  authority  were 
admitted  as  anything  in  the  controverfy, 
the  papift  would  be  too  hard  for  him. 

Thus  you  fee  that  proverbial  fayings, 
the  boafted  wifdom  of  ages,  are  not  to  be 
trufted  without  examination.  Apborifms, 
in  general,  indeed,  are  but  dangerous 
guides.  The  greater  part  of  them  have 
been  formed  not  fo  much  from  the  remits 
of  univerfal  reafon  and  experience,  as  from 
the  authority  of  individuals  in  the  infancy 
of  both.  A  few  examples  went  to  efta- 
bljfti  a  rule,  and  the  exceptions  flood  fov 


SECOND    THOUGHTS,    &C  0,$$ 

nothing,  till  at  length  they  have  often  been, 
found  more  numerous  than  the  exemplifi- 
cations. 

Farewell ! 


(     *36     ) 


LETTER    XXIIL 

ON     THE      PRINCIPAL      FAULTS     OF     POETICAL 
TRANSLATION. 


In  order  to  aflift  you  in  deciding  for 
yourfelf  the  queftion  you  afk  me  refpecling 
the  comparative  merits  of  Pope's  and 
Cowper  s  tranflation  of  Homer,  I  (hail 
lay  before  you  fome  remarks  on  the  chief 
purpofes  and  principal  faults  of  poetical 
tranflation,  which  fuggefted  themfelves  to 
my  mind  in  the  courie  of  my  earlier  read- 
ing. 

As  the  great  end  of  all  poetry  is  to 
pleafe,  that  of  a  poetical  tranflation  mini 
in  the  firft  inflance  be  the  lame.  But  De- 
rides this  general  purpoie,  it  has  the  ad- 
ditional one  of  gratifying  a  laudable  delire 
in  the  reader  who  does  not  underftand  the 
original,  of  gaining  fome  idea  how  per- 
sons thought  and  wrote  in  an  age  or  coun- 
try   often   very   diftant  from    his     own. 


P(  ETIi  INSLATION,  2  J  7 

Hence  arifes  a  neceflity  of  preferving. 
only    the    fubjecl  matter   and  the  pee 
beauties  of  an  original  author,  but  .. 
as   can   be   done    of  his    peculiar    turn  of 
thinking   and    mode    of   ex;.  ;\A 

the-   great  fchools    of    arts  and 
marked   with  a  .    ilamp   of   charac- 

ter, derived  from  the  manners  and  cir- 
[fiances  of  the  time  and  country,  which 
are  an  intereiling  fubjedl  of  fpeculat 
The  tranfiator,  therefore,  who  fails  to  re- 
flect an  image  of  his  original,  with  its 
charaderiitic  diftin&ions,  though  he  may 
prefent  us  with  a  figure  graceful  and  plead- 
ing in  itfelf,  has  not  performed  his  taflc 
completely. 

One  of  the  leading  faults  of  poetical 
tranflation  from  the  works  of  antiquity 
has  been  of  this  kind.  Our  manners  and 
fentiments  have  become  fo  very  different 
from  thofe  of  remote  ages,  that  the  two 
purpofes  of  tranflating  agreeably  and  faith- 
fully, can  with  great  difficulty  be  made  to 
coincide.  And  as  the  firit  with  of  every 
writer  is  to  be  read,  he  will  naturally  be 
led  to  prefer  that  mode  of  tranflating 
which  will  make  his  work  the  mod  gene- 
rally acceptable.     He  will  therefore  rather 


23$  LETTER       XXIII. 

itudv  to  brin  g  it  down  to  the  tafte  of  his 
own  times,  than  to  carry  his  reader  back 
to  thofe  which  have  been  long  forgotten. 
Nor  can  we  blame  him  for  fuch  an  ac- 
commodation to  the  feelings  of  his  co- 
temporaries  as  is  neceflary  to  fecure  his 
main  end  of  pleafmg.  His  fault  is,  that 
this  defign  is  ufually  carried  much  farther 
than  is  neceflary,  and  fo  far  as  almoft  en- 
tirely to  defeat  the  other  purpofe  of  tranf- 
lation. 

In  tranflating  an  author  who  lived  in  a 
rude  and  uncultivated  period,  two  kinds  of 
accommodation  are  neceflary.  The  one 
c'onfifts  in  foftening  or  fuppreffing  fuch 
images  and  expreffions  as  would  give  dif- 
guit  to  a  modern  reader  ;  the  other,  in 
railing  and  adorning  fuch  parts  as  from 
their  extreme  iimplicity  would  appear  to 
him  rude  and  infipid.  Both  thefe  muft  be 
done  to  a  certain  degree ;  but  both  require 
much  caution  and  judgment.  The  latter, 
in  particular,  is  a  hazardous  attempt,  de- 
manding a  moil  chaftifed  and  correct  tafle 
for  its  proper  execution ;  and  I  am  fur- 
prifed  at  the  unguarded  latitude  which  fo 
rational  a  critic  as  Dr.  J ohnfon  allows  in 
this  point.     Speaking  of  Pope's  Iliad,  he 


POETICAL    TRANSLATION.  239 

lays,  "  Homer  doubtlefs  owes  to  his  trans- 
lator many  Ovidian  graces  not  exactly  fuit- 
able  to  his  character;  but  to  have  added 
can  be  no  great  crime,  if  nothing  be  taken 
away:"  What!  can  there  be  a  grofler 
violation  of  every  principle  of  taile  and 
good  fenfe,  than  to  make  wanton  additions 
to  a  writer's  work  in  a  ftyle  totally  dif- 
ferent from  his  own  and  that  of  the  whole 
age  in  which  he  lived  ?  What  is  this  but 
introducing  utter  confufion  of  times  and 
manners  into  the  reader's  ideas,  and  bring- 
ing all  the  ftriking  variety  of  literary  com- 
pofition  to  one  uniform  meafure  of  un- 
meaning refinement  ? 

That  this  effect  has  been  actually  pro- 
duced by  Pope's  fpirit  of  tranflation,  may 
eafily  be  Shewn  in  various  parts  of  his 
works  and  thofe  of  his  imitators,  and  es- 
pecially in  that  partnerfhip  concern,  his 
Odyjfey.  The  original  poem  is,  in  my 
opinion,  almofl;  folely  valuable  from  the 
curious  pictures  it  difplays  of  the  irate  of 
Society,  both  public  and  domeftic,  at  the 
period  to  which  it  refers.  It  was  therefore 
effential  to  preferve  thefe  in  their  genuine 
and  characteristic  colouring  ;  and  no  graces 
of  modern  decoration  could  atone  for  the 
Gg  2 


$40  LETTER       XXIII* 

want  of  this  point  of  refemblancc  in  the 
Nothing  is  a  more  frequent  topic 
In  the  notes  of  this  tranflation,  than  the 
Cure  derived  from  fcenes  of  fimple 
nature ;  and  many  cenfures  are  pafl'ed 
upon  the  faftidious  delicacy  of  French 
critics  who  are  (hocked  with  the  plain  un- 
refined manners  of  Homer's  perfonages. 
But  it  is  impofiible  to  violate  Simplicity 
more  outrageoufly  than  has  been  done  by 
the  Englifli  tranflator,  efpeciaily  of  fome 
of  the  books;  and  I  am  forry  that  the 
book  containing  the  adventure  of  Nau- 
ficaa,  one  of  the  moil  pleafmg  in  the  whole 
poem,  is  of  the  number  thus  traveftied. 
It  is  among  thofe  afcribed  to  Broome,  but 
Pope  is  anfwerable  for  the  workrnanfhip 
of  his  journeymen.  Of  this  fault,  I  (hall 
felecl  a  few  finking  examples,  after  pre- 
mifing  a  remark  on  one  of  its  principal 
fources. 

All  the  words  appertaining  to  royalty, 
as  Icings  prine,  courts  palace,  h.e.  have  fo 
red  to  the  minds  of  civilized 
p&opje  ideas  of  dignity  and  grandeur,  that 
it  is  diffi cults  even  for  a  philofopher,  to 
hear  them  with  thofe  impreflions  only 
.  h  they  excited  in  the   early  flages  of 


POETICAL    TRANSLATION  24I 

fociety.  Yet  without  fuch  a  kind  of  ab-* 
{"traction,  it  is  evident  that  the  circum- 
ftances  with  which  fuch  terms  are  aflfociat- 
ed  in  relations  of  primitive  life  muft  fre- 
quently appear  highly  incongruous,  and 
produce  the  effed  of  biirlefque.  The 
v  means  of  avoiding  this  confequence 
in  modern  views  of  antiquity  are,  either 
to  lower  the  ideas  of  royalty,  or  to  exalt 
the  dignity  of  the  fimple  manners  with 
which  it  was  then  accompanied.  The 
former  is  the  mod  edectual,  and  indeed 
the  true  method;  for  if  we  were  taughi 
to  conceive  of  a  king  of  Ithaca  as  of  a 
chief  in  the  Sandwich  ifkmds,  or  an  Indian 
2  fhould  not  be  furprifed  10 
find  the  ic   of"  his  principal 

officers  a  But  what  is  ;' 

character  of 

we  to  be  intereited 

.  res  of  fo  low  a  clafs  ? 

Our   txandai  therefore    taken    the 

>    iitra  ")  I,    and  labours  to  throw  aft 

1  of  majeily  over  things  in  their 

own  nature  mean  and  trivial.   Thus,  when 

Emaeus   is  introduced  making  himfelf    a 

pair  of  brogues' oul  of  a  raw  hide,    we  are 

told  in  the  note,  lt  that  we  mult  not  judge 


242  LETTER       XXIU. 

of  the  dignity  of  men  from  the  employ- 
ment they  followed  three  thoufand  years 
paft,  by  the  notions  we  have  of  thofe 
employments  at  prefent ;"  and  this  admo- 
nition is  followed  by  fome  obfervations  on 
the  dignity  of  arts  in  their  infancy,  on  the 
cookery  of  Achilles,  and  on  the  cuftom  of 
the  Turkim  emperors  to  learn  fome  me- 
chanic trade.  Now  what  is  this  but  a  la- 
boured attempt  to  delude?  The  real 
dignity  of  any  condition  can  only  depend 
on  the  qualities  requilite  to  fill  it,  or  the 
habits  of  thinking  and  acting  acquired  in 
exerciiing  its  functions.  A  keeper  of 
fwine  and  maker  of  fhoes  mud  ever  de- 
rive his  manners  and  ideas  from  the  ft  ye 
or  the  worklhop  ;  and  his  relative  confe- 
quence  in  any  fociety  only  exhibits  the  re- 
e  advance  of  that  fociety  in  power  and 
civilization.  Can  any  thing  therefore  be 
more  abfurd,  than  a  remark  of  the  fame 
annotator,  on  the  circumftance,  that  Me- 
lanthius  the  goatherd,  bringing  a  fupply  of 
Lt  to  the  fuitors,  is  made  to  fit  at  table 
with  them?  tl  We  may  gather  from 
ice  the  truth  of  an  obfervation  for- 
}y  made,  that  Melanthius,  Eumaeus, 
were  pcrfons  of  diftinciion,    and  their 


POETICAL    TRANSLATION,  243 

offices  pofls  of  honour:  we  fee  Melan- 
thius  who  had  charge  of  the  goats  of 
Ulyfles  is  a  companion  for  princes."  This 
fame  Melanthius,  juit  before,  on  meeting 
with  Eumaeus,  is  by  Homer  reprefented 
as  infulting  him  in  the  grofieft  terms,  and 
telling  this  perfon  of  diftinclion  that  he  (hall 
foon  have  to  carry  him  out  of  the  iiland 
and  fell  him  for  a  nave.  That  fuch  men 
were  made  companions  by  the  fuitors,  is 
indeed  a  proof  how  little  the  fuitors  were 
elevated  above  them,  but  furely  does  not 
prove  that  the  goatherd  and  fwineherd 
were  any  thing  more  than  goatherds  and 
fwineherds. 

This  incongruous  alliance  of  modern 
ideas  affixed  to  the  terms  of  royalty,  with 
the  eircumftances  antiently  annexed  to  the 
office,  has  contributed  more  than  any  thing 
to  give  a  ludicrous  air  to  many  paflages  of 
Pope's  Odyfley,  and  to  millead  the  Eng- 
lifli  reader  in  his  notions  of  the  ftate  of 
manners  in  that  period.  Thus,  when  Mi- 
nerva in  a  dream  tells  Nauficaa  to  prepare 
for  her  nuptials,  for  that  the  ben  among 
the  Phoeacians,  her  kinfmen,  have  for 
fome  time  been  paying  their  court  to 
her,    the  tranflator   metamorphofcs   thele 


244  LETTER       XXIIJ. 

petty    chieftains    into     fo    many    p^ 
kin 

Vir^n,  awake  !  thy  marriage  hour  is  nigh, 
See  from  their  thrones  thy  kindred  monarchs  fi 

The  preparation  for  this  royal  wedding- 
was  that  the  princefs  mould  fpend  a  day  in 
wafhing  her  foul  clothes,  and  {lie  is  ad- 
monifhed  by  the  Goddefs  to  afk  from  her 
father  a  carriage  drawn  by  mules,  4t  for 
^1  (fays  (lie  with  great  limplicity)  it  will  be 
v  handibmer  for  you  to  ride  than  to  walk, 
as  the  wafning  pits  are  at  a  good  diitance 
from  the  town."  A  fearcher  after  real 
manne:  d  with  this  flroke  of 

nature    in  uncultivated  life  ;    but  he  can 
oni  tired  by  the  tranflatcr's 

lefque  a  •   it. 

In  pomp  r"d2  forth,  fir  pomo  becomes  the  Great, 
And  Majefty  derives  a  grace  from  ilate. 

Nauficaa  and  her  maids  mount  this 
"  roval  car"  or  wain  leaded  with  foul 
clothes  ;  2nd  her  careful  mother  puts  good 
{lore  of  provifron  into  a  chelt,  and  fills 
a  goat-fkin  with  wine.  They  likewife  take 
a  -olden  crufe  full  of  oil,  that  they  might 
anoint  themfelves  after  the  work  was  over. 


POETICAL    TRANSLATION.  2^tf 

Thefe  (imple  circumuance.s  are  thus  drefT- 
ed  out  by  the  tranflator. 

The  Qjeen,  afllduous,  to  her  train  afllgns 
The  fumptuous  viands  and  the  flavorous  wines* 
The  train  prepare  a  crufe  of  curious  mold, 
Acruifc  of  fragrance,  form'd  of  burniftYd  gold; 
Odour  divine  !  whofe  foft  refrefhing  ft  reams 
Sleek  the  fraooth  fkin,  and  fcent  the  fnpwy  limbs. 

In  this  ftyle  is  the  whole  adventure  re- 
lated ;  and  while  actions  and  difcoiirfes 
denoting  the  very  infancy  of  civilization 
pafs  in  review  before  you,  the  language 
perpetually  excites  images  derived  from 
the  courts  of  modern  Europe.  Where 
Nauficaa  in  Homer  tells  Ulyffes  that  he 
will  find  her  mother  fitting  on  the  hearth 
within  the  blaze  of  the  fire,  leaning  againft 
a  pillar,  the  tranflator  fays  for  her, 

Seek  thou  the  Queen  along  the  rooms  of  ft  ate ; 

and  where  the  original  goes  on  to  fay,  that 
her  maids,  (ufing  a  word  properly  mean- 
ing female  flaves)  are  fitting  behind  her, 
the  politer  copy  gives  her  an  attendance 
of  ladies  of  honour  ; 

Around  a  circle  of  bright  damfels  fhine$ 


LETTER       XXIIF. 

This  is  fufficient  to  exemplify  that 
common  fault  of  modern  tranflatioii,  dif- 
guifing  the  original  by  a  fictitious  colour- 
ing. It  is,  I  conceive,  when  carried  to 
the  degree  of  the  examples  above  cited,  a 
fault  of  the  greateft  magnitude,  depriving 
the  reader  of  the  amufement  and  informa- 
tion he  would  receive  from  a  true  repre- 
fentation  of  ancient  modes  of  thinking  and 
freaking,  and  giving  him  nothing  inflead 
but  an  incongruous  mixture  of  iimpiicity 
ia  action  with  refinement  in  language. 

Another  fault  in  tranilation,  generally 
accompanying  the  former,  though  of 
fomewhat  different  origin,  is  the  fpirit  o£ 
exaggeration  and  hyperbole,  which  con- 
stantly endeavours  to  improve  upon  the 
original  image  or  fentiment  by  pulhing  it 
tg  an  extravagance  beyond  the  bounds  of 
truth  and  propriety.  This  is,  fo  frequent, 
an  error,  that  it  would  be  eafy  to  multiply 
examples  of  it  from  even  our  molt  cele- 
brated writers,  Dryden's  tranfiation  of 
Virgil  abounds  with  it.  Thus,  in  the  ftory 
of  Cacus,  when  Hercules  rolls  down  upon 
his  cave  the  fragment  of  a  rock,  the  Ro- 
man poet  thinks  it  fufficient  to  fay,  "  that 
the  wide  ether  re  founded,  and  the  affright- 


POETICAL    TRANSLATION.  247 

ed  river  rolled  backwards."  But  Dryden 
makes  the  river  fairly  fink  into  the  ground, 
and  the  fky  equally  terrified,  run,  no  one 
can  tell  whither ! 

The  Iky  fhrunk  upwards  with  unufual  dread, 
And  trembling  Tiber  div'd  beneath  his  bed. 

Thus  too,  where  Virgil  fays  no  more 
than  that  Turnus  lopt  offa  warrior's  head 
'at  a  blow,  and  left  the  trunk  on  the  fand, 
Dryden  adds, 


»     ■        the  Latian  fields  are  drunk 

With  ftreams  that  iflued  from  the  bleeding  trunk. 

But  the  molt  ludicrous  hyperbole  of 
this  kind  that  I  have  met  with,  is  in  Rowe's 
tranflation  of  the  Pharfalia.  Lucan,  de- 
fcribing  an  army  reduced  to  great  flraits 
for  want  of  provifion,  reprefents  the  fol- 
diers,  after  having  eaten  the  fields  quite 
bare,  as  plucking  with  their  teeth  the  wi- 
thered herbs  from  their  ramparts.  This 
is  extravagant  enough,  according  to  his 
ufual  manner ;  but  his  tranfktor  far  out- 
does  him : 

Then  rav'nous  on  their  camp's  defence  they  fay, 
And  grind  with  greedy  jaws  the  turfy  wall, 

Hh  % 


248  LETTER       XXIII. 

It  is  confidering  this  fault  of  tranftation 
in  too  favourable  a  light  to  charge  it  upon 
an  exuberant  warmth  of  imagination,  be- 
yond the  controul  of  judgment.  This 
might  in  fome  meafure  have  been  the  cafe 
with  a  Dryden  ;  but  a  writer  of  the  coldeft 
imagination  may  eafily,  from  the  ilores  of 
poetical  phrafeology,  borrow  flowers  of 
hyperbole  to  interweave  at  random  into 
the  tifTue  of  a  gaudy  tranflation,  where  he 
is  at  no  expence  for  original  ideas.  This 
figure  is  indeed  the  mofl  common  with 
the  moft  ordinary  writers.  Pope,  as  far 
as  I  have  remarked,  is  extremely  Sparing 
in  its  ufe ;  while  his  coadjutors  Broome 
and  Fenton  feem  to  think  it  the  very  cha- 
racteriftic  of  poetical  language.  A  line 
of  the  latter  in  the  fourth  book  of  the 
Odyffey  will  amufe  you.  It  is  part  of 
the  defcription  of  the  palace  of  Mene- 
iaus. 

Above,  beneath,  around  the  palace  (bines 
The  jumlcfs  treafure  of  exhaujted  mixes. 

With  refpect  to  the  prolixity,  the  un- 
meaning fuperfluities,  and  the  conftrained 
(expreflions,  fo  commonly  to  be  met  with 
in  tranllations,  as  they  Indicate  me?e  want 


POEtrCAL    TRANSLATION.  2£Q 

of  poetical  talents,  they  are  fcarcely  ob- 
jects of  criticifm.  They  are  evidently 
much  increafed  by  the  ufe  of  rhyme,  which 
aggravates  all  the  difficulties  of  bringing 
the  fenfe  of  the  tranflation  into  a  form  and 
compafs  refembling  that  of  the  original. 
Yet  as  long  as  rhyme  is  more  pleafing  to 
the  readers  of  Eriglifh  poetry  in  general 
than  blank  verfe,  I  would  not  aflert  that 
tranflation  ought  to  be  deprived  of  its  aid, 
more  than  original  compoiition.  It  never 
mould  be  forgotten,  that  the  firft  purpofe 
of  writing  is  to  be  rehd  ,■  and  that  if  this  be 
not  anfwered,  a  book  may  be  an  addition 
to  the  furniture  of  a  library,  without  be- 
ing any  to  the  flock  of  literary  amufement 
in  a  country.  By  this  criterion,  after  all 
every  performance  mull  be  tried  ;  not, 
indeed,  by  merely  counting  the  number  of 
its  readers,  but  by  eftimating  the  pleafure 
derived  from  it  by  thofe  who  from  habit 
and  education  are  bed  prepared  for  fuch 
enjoyments.  Many  of  the  poetical  writ- 
ings of  antiquity  are,  I  believe,  incapable 
of  pleafing  in  a  tranflation,  upon  whatever 
plan  it  be  conducted.  When  a  man  of 
t  rue  genius  is  led  to  engage  m  fuch  a  taflc. 


250  LETTER      XXIII. 

we  are  bound  rather  to  lament  the  wade 
of  his  powers,  than  to  wafte  our  own  time 
in  trying  to  relifli  the  fruit  of  his  injudi- 
cious labours. 


Adieu ! 


<     25x     ) 


LETTER    XXIV. 


OM    RUINS. 


I  do  not  wonder,  my  dear  Son,  at  the 
cnthufialm  with  which  you  relate  your  vifit 
to  the  celebrated  ruins  of Ab- 
bey. The  natural  charms  of  the  fcenery 
in  the  midft  of  which  they  are  placed,  their 
own  intrinfic  majefty  and  beauty,  the 
rarity  of  fuch  a  fpeclacle,  and  the  train  of 
ideas  afifociated  with  it,  all  contribute  to 
render  it  one  of  the  moft  interefting  ob- 
jects of  a  traveller's  curiofity.  I  cannot 
but  think,  however,  that  the  extraordinary 
paffion  for  ruins  of  every  kind  which  at 
prefent  prevails,  has  in  it  a  good  deal  of 
the  rage  of  a  predominant  fafhion,  and 
goes  beyond  all  bounds  of  fober  judgment. 
And  as  in  a  former  letter  I  ventured  to 
appreciate  another  point  of  modern  tafte, 
with  which  this  is  confiderably  connected, 
the  new  ftyle  of  gardening,  I  fliall,  in  this, 


Q.$2  LETTER       XXIV. 

canvafs  feme  of  the  principles  on  which 
our  admiration  of  ruins  is  founded. 

The  firft  impreflion  made  by  the  view 
of  a  mafs  of  ruins  can  fcarcely  in  any 
country  have  been  of  the  pleating  kind. 
It  mud  have  been  that  of  wade,  and  de- 
flation— of  decayed  art  and  loft  utility. 
If  the  "  fmiling  works  of  man"  in  their 
-perfect  ftate  w^ere  always  objects  of  de- 
light, their  forlorn  and  dilapidated  condi- 
tion mull:  have  excited  melancholy  emo- 
tions. Thus  we  find  that  the  horrors  of 
the  howling  wildernefs  were  in  the  poetical 
Teprefentations  of  the  earlieft  writers  ag- 
gravated by  the  picture  of  ruined  edifices ; 
nor  can  we,  I  imagine  difcover  in  all  an- 
tiquity, traces  of  any  other  ideas  afToci- 
ated  with  thefe  fpeclacles.  But  melan- 
choly itfelf  is  a  fource  of  pleafure  to  a 
cultivated  mind,  and  images  of  grandeur 
and  fublimity  rife  to  the  fancy  on  con- 
templating the  operation  of  fome  mighty 
caufe,  whofe  effects  do  not  too  nearly  in- 
tereft  us.  Hence  the  refined  tafte  of  mo- 
dern times,  occupied  at  leifure  in  extract- 
ing from  every  object  die  whole  fum  of  fen- 
timent  it  is  capable  of  affording,  has  attach- 
ed to  ruins  a  fet  of  ideas,  formerly  either 


ON   RUINS*  253 

little  attended  to,  or  overwhelmed  by 
acuter  fenfations.  Nor  have  they  been 
only  regarded  as  fentimental  objects.  The 
neweft  and  moft  fafhionable  mode  of  con- 
fidering  them,  is  with  refpeel  to  the  place 
they  hold  in  the  piflurefqne ;  and  it  is 
chiefly  under  this  character  that  they  have 
become  fuch  favourites  with  landicape 
painters  and  landfcape  writers. 

The  pleafing  erTecl  of  ruins  on  the  eye^ 
may  be  merely  the  confequence  of  their 
having  been  parts  of  a  grand  or  beautiful 
piece  of  architecture.  The  relics  of  Gre- 
cian temples,  and  theatres,  or  of  Roman 
baths  and  palaces,  the  tall  Corinthian  pil- 
lars which  fupported  fome  coloflal  portico, 
the  long  ranks  of  a  broken  colonade, 
the  high-roofed  cathedral  aide,  and  Gothic 
window  with  its  rich  compartments  and 
delicate  tracery,  are  all  objects  on  which 
the  nobleft  arts  have  beftowed  intrinfic 
value.  They  are  alfo  rarities  3  and  they 
form  a  ftr iking  contrail  with  the  ruftic  and 
folitary  fcenes  in  which  ruins  are  ufually 
found.  No  wonder,  then,  that  the  bar- 
barous hand  is  execrated  which  levels  with 
the  duft  the  fair  remnants  of  a  cultivated 
Ii 


'254  LETTER       XXIV. 

age,  nor  that  the  eye  of  tafte  and  know- 
ledge lingers  in  filent  admiration  on  thefe 
gems  that  glitter  amid  the  defart.  In  this 
view,  however,  ruins  have  no  peculiar 
value  as  fuch ;  on  the  contrary,  the  leis 
ruinous,  the  better  ;  and  a  remain  of  anti- 
quity in  perfect  preservation  is  the  great 
delideratum  to  the  lover  of  the  arts. 

But  ruins,  ftill  as  objects  of  fight,  are  not 
without  beauties  peculiarly  their  own, 
which  render  them  the  favourite  fubjects 
of  the  pencil,  and  the  admiration  of  all 
who  travel  in  fearch  of  the  ptturefque. 
According  to  their  feelings,  the  regular 
lines  of  art  but  ill  harmonize  with  the  free 
ilrokes  of  nature  ;  and  in  a  landfcape  they 
prefer  the  itick-built  hovel  and  thatched 
cottage  to  the  neat  uniformity  of  an  elegant 
manfion.  But  in  ruins,  even  of  the  moil 
regular  edifices,  the.  lines  are  fo  foftened 
by  decay  or  interrupted  by  demolition  ; 
the  ftiffnefs  of  deiign  is  fo  relieved  by  the 
accidental  intruiion  of  Springing  fhrubs 
and  pendant  weeds  ;  that  even  the  richeft 
decorations  of  art  feem  not  mifplaced 
amid  the  wildnefs  of  uncultivated  na- 
ture. This  mixture,  too,  produces  fome- 
what  perfectly  lingular  ,*    and  novelty  in 


ON   RUINS.  <2$5 

itfelf  is  ever  a  fource  of  pleafure.  The 
ivy  creeping  along  Gothic  arches,  and 
forming  a  verdant  lattice  acrols  the  dis- 
mantled cafements,  bufhes  darting  through 
the  chafms  of  the  rifted  tower,  and  wild 
flowers  embracing  its  battlements,  are  the 
fantaftic  ftrokes  of  nature  working  upon 
patterns  of  art,  which  all  the  refinement  of 
magnificence  cannot  imitate.  It  is,  how- 
ever, obvious,  that  for  a  ruin  to  be  worth 
preferring  as  a  figure  in  the  landfcape,  it 
mull  have  belonged  to  a  work  of  fome 
grandeur  or  elegance,  and  0 ill  exhibit 
the  faded  features  of  thofe  qualities.  A 
mere  mafs  of  rugged  mafonry,  a  cracked 
gable  or  tottering  wall,  can  give  no  other 
impreffions  than  thofe  of  decay  and  defol- 
iation. They  may,  indeed  frill  be  piclu- 
refque  in  the  literal  fenfe  of  the  word; 
that  is,  they  may  with  fuitable  accomon- 
niments  be  happily  introduced  into  a  pic- 
tured landfcape  ;  but  this  is  only  a  confe- 
quence  of  the  imperfection  of  painting  as 
an  imitative  art,  whereby  the  harfh  and 
prominent  features  of  deformity  are  foft- 
ened  into  eafe  and  fpirit.  Who  has  not 
feen  an  old  lime-kiln  or  dilapidated  barn 
I  i   2 


$5$  LETTER       XXIV. 

wrought  by  the  hand  of  a  mailer  into  a 
finking  piece  of  fcenery?  Yet,  I  pre- 
fume,  no  perfon  of  elegant  perceptions 
would  choofe  to  have  fuch  real  objecls 
confront  his  eye  in  the  walks  which  he  has 
led  round  his  cultured  domains. 

With  refpect  to  the  fentimental  effects 
of  ruins,  they  are  all  referable  to  that  prin- 
ciple of  affociation  which  connects  ani- 
mate with  inanimate  things,  and  paft  with 
prefent,  by  the  relation  of  place.  There 
cannot  be  finer  topics  for  addrefTes  to  the 
imagination  than  this  circumftance  affords ; 
and  poetry  and  oratory  are  full  of  exam- 
ples of  its  application.  The  view  of  a 
field  of  battle  in  which  the  fate  of  a  mighty 
kingdom  was  decided ;  of  gloomy  towers 
once  confcious  to  deeds  of  horror  ;  of  ruin- 
ed palaces,  the  ancient  abodes  of  fplen- 
dour  and  feflivity  ;  of  deferted  towns  where 
fcience  and  arts  formerly  flourifhed  ;  of 
the  rooflefs  choir  and  mouldering  cloifrer, 
once  vocal  to  pious  himns,  or  facred  to 
contemplation  ;  cannot  but  powerfully 
move  every  fufceptible  breafl,  The  ge- 
neral fentiment  infpired  by  fuch  fcenes  is 
chat  of  the  mutability  of  human  affairs ; 
aad  in  certain  rempers  of  the  foul,  nothing 


ON    RUINS.  257 

can  be  fo  fweetly  foothing  33  the  terider  yet 
elevated  melancholy  excited  by  the  contrail 
of  the  fpe&acle  before  our  eyes,  and  that 
beheld  by  the  imagination. 

There  is  a  mood, 
(I  fing  not  to  the  vacant  and  the  young) 
There  is  a  kindly  mood  of  melancholy, 
That  wings  the  foul,  and  points  her  to  the  Ikies ; 
When  tribulation  clothes  the  child  of  man, 
When  age  defcends  with  forrow  to  the  grave, 
'Tis  fweetly  foothing  fympathy  to  pain, 
A  gently  wakening  call  to  health  and  eafe. 
How  mufical !  when  all  devouring  Time, 
Here  fitting  on  his  throne  of  ruins  hoar, 
While  winds  and  tempefts  fweep  his  various  lyre, 
How  fweet  thy  diapafon,  Melancholy  ! 

Dyer,  Ruins  of  Rome. 

But  to  enjoy  this  ftrain  of  meditation 
to  advantage,  it  is  nece(Tary4  that  the  place 
or  remain  mould  refer  to  fomewhat  really 
inlerefting — that  the  relics  fhould  be  fuf- 
ficient  to  afford  fome  aid  to  the  fancv — 
and  that  the  emotions  infpired  by  the  re- 
collected fcene  be  of  a  kind  not  incon- 
gruous with  thole  we  are  likely  to  bring 
with  us  to  the  fpot.  1  cannot  but  fufpect, 
that  the  undiftinguifhing  pafTion  for  ruins 
is  only  a  proof  how  little  their  admirers 
are  in  general  fentimentally  afTeLled  by 
them.     A  gay  party  rambling  through  the 


258  LETTER       XXIV. 

walks  of  a  delightful  pleafure-ground, 
would  find  an  unpleafant  damp  ftriking 
upon  their  fpirits  on  approaching  an  awful 
pile  of  religious  ruins,  did  they  really  feel 
the  force  of  its  affociations.  Were  they 
not  capable  of  gazing  at  them  as  mere 
objects  of  curiofity,  they  would  be  fenfible 
of  a  certain  incongruity  of  place  and  oc- 
casion. Whilft,  on  the  other  hand,  the 
genuine  child  of  fancy,  often  too  much 
difpofed  to  a  melancholy  which  our  cli- 
mate and  habits  of  thinking  naturally  fa- 
vour, might  be  led  by  fuch  an  adventi- 
tious aid  to  indulge  his  penfive  humour  to 
a  hurtful  excefs. 

Upon  the  principle  of  afTociation  it 
will,  however,  appear,  that  the  greater 
part  of  the  relics  of  antiquity  in  this  coun- 
try can  produce  but  trifling  effects  on  the 
heart.  The  ideas  they  fuggeft  are  thofe  of 
forms  of  life  offering  nothing  dignified  or 
pleahng  to  the  mind.  The  cancellated 
man  lion  of  the  ancient  Baron,  of  which 
nothing    is     left    but   a    (battered    tower, 

.ning  over  the  fruitful  vale,  reminds  us 
only  of  the  item  tyranny,  brutal  ignorance 
and  grofs  licentioufnefs,  which  ftained  the 
times  of  feudal  anarchy.     And  if  we- look 


ON  RUIN'S.  259 

back  to  the  original  ft  ate  of  our  ordinary 
monadic  remains,  what  {hall  we  fee,  but  a 
fet  of  beings  engaged  in  a  dull  round  of 
indolent  pleafures,  and  fuperftitious  prac- 
tices, alike  debafmg  to  the  heart  and  un- 
derflanding?  We  are  rejoiced  that  their 
date  is  paft;  and  we  can  have  little  induce- 
ment to  recal  them  from  that  oblivion  into 
which  they  are  defervedly  funk,  and  which 
belt  accords  with  their  primitive  infignifi- 
cance. 

But  there  is  a  (ct  of  literati  who  will 
regard  all  that  can  be  laid  about  the  pic- 
turefque  and  fentimental  effecls  of  ruins  as 
mere  trifling,  and  will  direct  your  atten- 
tion folely  to  their  importance  as  bijlorical 
records.     This  weighty  topic    I  fhall  not 
attempt  to  difcufs  at  any  length.     But  I 
may  venture  to  fuggeft,  that  much  of  their 
iuppofed   value  in    this   refpecl  proceeds 
from  the    notion,  that  what   would  be  of 
no  fort  of  confequence  if  modern,  acquires 
importance  merely  from  its  antiquity.      In 
a  narrative    of  the  king  of  Pruilias  cam- 
paigns, we  are  content  with  tracing  all  his 
considerable  aclions,  and  entering  into  his 
leading  defigns,  without  attempting  to  at 
certain  the  precife  fpot  of  every  encamp- 


«26o  LETTER       XXIV. 

ment,  or  the  fcene  of  every  fkirmifh. 
But  if  the  antiquary,  from  the  veftiges  of 
a  ditch  and  remains  of  a  rampart,  can  ren- 
der it  probable  that  Agricola  in  his  march 
againfr  the  Caledonians  occupied  fuch  or 
fuch  an  eminence,  he  felicitates  himfelf  as 
the  difcoverer  of  a  fact  of  high  moment, 
and  pafles,  among  his  brethren,  as  a  mofl 
able  and  ingenious  elucidator  of  the  early 
hiftory  of  Britain.  Now,  this  is  fo  harm- 
lefs  a  piece  of  literary  parade,  that  it  may 
be  fpared  a  rigorous  fcrutiny.  But,  in  re- 
turn, the  farmer  mould  be  allowed  an  equal 
attention  to  the  improvement  of  his  land, 
and  not  be  treated  as  a  barbarian  if  he  in- 
diftinguifhably  levels  both  vallum  and  fojja 
with  his  plough. 

Since  the  art  of  writing  has  fubfifted, 
all  the  important  tranfaciions  of  civilized 
nations  have  been  tranfmitted  in  the  page 
of  the  hiftorian,  with  a  copioufnefs  and  ac- 
curacy fo  infinitely  fuperior  to  what  can  be 
done  by  monumental  remains,  that  the  ut- 
mod  we  can  expedl  to  gain  from  the  itudy 
of  the  latter  with  this  view,  is  the  obfcure 
intimation  of  fome  fact,  thrown  afide,  as 
it  were,  by  the  cotemporary  chronicler,  as 
not  worth  the  pains  of  recording.     Whe- 


ON    JRUTNS*'  <26t 

ther  in  the  prefent  Hate  of  knowledge  it  be 
an  objed  of  importance  to  colled  fcraps 
and  rubbifh  which  were  rejected  in  their 
day  even  by  monks  and  friars,  I  leave  you 
to  determine  for  yourfelf. 

Farewell) 


Kfc 


C     *62     ) 


LETTER    XXV. 


REMARKS  ON  AN  ARGUMENT  IN  FAVOUR 
OF  THE  REALITY  OF  SPECTRAL  APPEAR- 
ANCES. 


DEAR    SON, 

In  a  former  letter  I  hinted  to  you,  that 
fuperftitious  belief  was  yet  very  far  from 
being  banifhed  from  this  country ;  and  that 
there  was  a  difpofition  in  fome  perfons,  far 
removed  from  the  Vulgar,  to  favour  it. 
The  late  Dr.  Johnfon  was  of  this  number. 
A  narrow  education  and  native  gloom  of 
temper,  might  probably  be  the  circum- 
ftances  which  originally  enflaved  his  ftrong 
mind  to  the  terrors  of  fuperftition  I  but  I 
am  convinced  that  he  alfo  fuppofed  a 
connexion  to  exift  between  the  belief  of 
fupernatural  events  in  general,  and  thofe 
on  which  the  evidence    of  revelation  is 


SPECTRAL    APPEARANCES.  Q63 

founded,  and  therefore  was  theoretically 
as  well  as  practically  credulous.  This 
appears  from  the  arguments  he  frequently 
employed  in  fupport  of  fuch  pretended 
events  ;  by  which  we  know  that  he  was  able 
to  make  an  impreflion  on  the  minds  of 
fome  of  his  fubmiflive  followers,  whatever 
were  their  effects  on  his  own.  One  of  thefe, 
in  favour  of  the  reality  of  apparitions  of  the 
dead,  which  he  feems  to  fan&ion  by  put- 
ting it  in  the  mouth  of  the  Sage  in  his 
Rqffelas,  has  a  popular  plaufibility  well 
calculated  to  give  it  weight.  As  it  is  alfo 
of  a  general  nature,  and  applicable  to  a 
variety  of  illufions  which  have  impofed  on 
the  credulity  of  mankind,  I  think  it  wor- 
thy of  a  particular  examination. 

11  That  the  dead  are  feen  no  more,  faid 
"  Irnlac,  I  will  not  undertake  to  maintain, 
41  againft  the  concurrent  and  unvaried  tef- 
41  timony  of  all  ages  and  nations.  There 
«*  is  no  people,  rude  or  learned,  among 
41  whom  apparitions  of  the  dead  are  not 
4t  related  and  believed.  This  opinion, 
41  which  perhaps  prevails  as  far  as  human 
<•'  nature  is  diffufed,  could  become  uni- 
44  yerfal  only  by  its  truth  :  thofe  that  ne^ 
Kk  2 


204  LETTER       XXV. 

ot  ver  heard  it  of  one  another,  would  not 
"  have  agreed  in  a  tale  which  nothing  but 
"  experience  could  make  credible." 

Respecting  this  argument  of  the  uni- 
verfality  of  an  opinion,  it  may  be  faid,  that 
as  there  are  many  truths  which  it  greatly 
helps  to  confirm,  fo,  many  errors  have  at 
all  times  taken  fhelter  under  it.  The  caufe 
of  this  diverfity  it  is  of  importance  to  ex- 
amine. 

That  a  great  pirt  of  mankind  agree  in 
giving  credit  to  a  thing,  even  though  it  be^ 
fomewhat  whieh  comes  under  their  per- 
fonal  obfervation,  will  be  a  very  flight  ar- 
gument of  its  truth,  provided  there  be  a 
manifeft  fource  of  error  in  the  cafe,  which 
is  of  a  nature  to  operate  equally  upon  all. 
Thus,  the  once  univerfal  and  (till  common 
notion,  that  the  earth  is  ftationary,  while 
the  fun  and  other  luminaries  move  round 
it,  is  not  in  the  lead  flrengthened  by  the 
numbers  who  adopt  it,  fince  all  have  formed 
their  belief  upon  the  very  fame  teftimony, 
that  of  their  fenfes,  which  is  liable  to  the 
fame  error  in  all  as  in  one.  The  fame 
may  be  afferted  of  the  fuppofition  of  a 
lupernatural  voice  fpeaking  in  thunder ;  of 
lightning  being   xxxt  weapon  of  an  angry 


SPECTRAL    APPEARANCES,  $65 

Deity  ;  of  the  place  of  future  punimment 
being  a  dark  cavern  under  ground ;  and  of 
various  other  opinions  in  which  uniform 
aftbciations  of  ideas  have  occafioned  uni- 
form deductions.     To  apply  this  princi- 
ple in  the  prefent  cafe.     When  mankind, 
from  whatever    caufes,   had  admitted   the 
belief  of  a  ft  ate    of    exiftence    continued 
beyond  the  prefent  life,  they  mull   have 
endeavoured  to  form  fome  conception  of 
the  mode  of  that  exiftence.      Now,  as  the 
hody  lay  before  their  eyes,  a  iifelefs  mafs, 
or  was  deftroyed  by  fire,  corruption,    or 
other  material  agents,  they  muft  necefta- 
rily  have  had  recourfe  to  fome  fubftanceof 
a  rarer  and  fubtler  texture,  which  eicaping 
from  this  grofs  and  perifhable  part,    might 
carry  writh    it   fuch   imprefted  marks  and 
qualities,  as  would  preferve  the    ftamp  of 
perfonal    identity.         How    metaphyfical 
fcever   this  procefs   of  thinking    may  ap- 
pear,   it    muft    actually  have   been   gone 
through    by  the   rudeft    people,     if    they 
thought  at  all  on  the   fubject.      Further; 
that  form  and  figure  were  capable  of  being 
imprefted   upon  matter   of  much  greater 
tenuity  than  their  own  bodies,   they  muft: 
experimentally  have  known,  from  the  fa^ 


266  LETTER      XXV* 

miliar  inftances  of  Jbadows,  and  the  reflex- 
ion of  their  image  from  water  or  mirrors. 
In  thefe  cafes  they  would  plainly  perceive, 
that  a  fomething,  refembling  themfelves, 
might,  in  fome  meafure,  Hand  apart  from 
their  bodies. 

Thus,  I  conceive,  it  almoft  neceffarily 
happened,  that  all  nations  formed  fimilar 
ideas  of  the  corporeal  attributes  of  thofe 
who  had  palled  through  death  without  to- 
tal extinction  of  being.  It  was  no  longer 
grofs  body  in  which  they  were  clad  : — 
that,  it  was  manifeft,  was  left  behind.  But 
as,  in  thinking  of  the  dead,  it  was  impof- 
fible  to  abftracl  from  them  fhape,  linea- 
ments, looks,  and  geftures,  thefe  proper- 
ties were  annexed  to  a  thin,  airy,  or  fha- 
dowy  body,  which,  while  it  might  be  an 
object  of  fight,  and  perhaps  to  hearingy 
was  none  to  the  touch, 

Ter  conatus  ibi  collo  dare  brachia  circum, 
Ter  fruftra  comprenfa  manus  effugit  imago, 
Par  levibus  ventis,  volucrique  fimillima  fomno. 

JEx,  VI.  700. 

Then  thrice  around  his  neck  his  arms  he  threw, 
And  thrice  the  flitting  fhadow  flip'd  away, 
e  winds,  or  empty  dreams  that  fiy  the  da)v 

Qjlyden, 


SPECTRAL    APPEARANCES.  <Z6] 

This  uniformity  of  conception  refpecV 
ing  men  in  another  ftate  of  exiftence 
being  eftablilhed,  it  is,  I  imagine,  an  eafy 
Hep  to  the  fuppofition  of  their  fenfible  ap- 
pearance under  fuch  a  form.  Reveries 
and  dreams  of  the  fancy  in  perfons  cf 
heated  imaginations  are  fo  extremely  like 
realities,  that  they  are  really  taken  for 
fuch.  A  mourning  mother,  filled  with 
the  vivid  image  of  her  loll  child,  might 
eafily,  in  the  dark  and  filent  hours  of 
night,  when  juft  finking  into  difturbed 
{lumber,  imagine  that  the  beloved  form 
actually  flood  before  her.  The  long  re- 
vered face  of  an  aged  parent,  might  be 
fancied  to  clothe  itfelf  in  a  vifible  garb  of 
light,  in  order  to  confole,  admonifh,  or 
inform  the  troubled  and  folitary  child. 
Still  more  readily,  the  murderer,  appalled 
by  confcious  guilt,  and  in  continual  dread 
of  an  avenger,  might  body  forth  the 
mangled  corpfe  of  the  (lain,  to  upbraid 
him  with  terrific  looks  and  geftures  for 
the  bloody  deed.  All  this  appears  to 
me  fo  perfectly  natural,  and  fo  correfpon- 
dent  to  the  univerfal  hiflory  of  the  human 
min^i,  that  I  only  wonder  fo  few  perfons, 
among  thole  who  are  thoroughly  perfuad- 


£63  LEttER      XXV.' 

cd  of  the  reality  of  apparitions,   can  be 
met  with,  who  pretend  themfelves  to  have 
been  witnefTes    of    them.      And     furely, 
the  gradual  diminution  of  thefe  fuppofed 
events,    now    amounting  in  enlightened 
countries  almoft   to  a  total  ceflation,   is  a 
much  ftronger    argument    againft    them, 
than  the  moft  general  concurrence  in  their 
belief  among  ignorant  and  credulous  peo- 
ple, can  be  in  their  favour. 
In  the  deep  windings  of  the  grove,  no  more 
The  hag  obfcene,  and  grifly  phantom  dwell ; 
Nor  in  the  fall  of  mountain  ftream,  or  roar 
Of  winds,  is  heard  the  angry  fpirit's  yell ; 
No  wizard  mutters  the  tremendous  fpell, 
Nor  finks  convulfive  in  prophetic  fwoon ; 
Nor  bids  the  noife  of  drums  and  trumpets  (well, 
To  eafe  of  fancied  pangs  the  labouring  moon, 
Or  chafe  the  (hade  that  blots  the  blazing  orb  of  noon* 

Minstrel, 
Of  the  various  fuperftitions  which  the 
poet  here  reprefents  as  put  to  flight  by 
Reafon,  lome  have  been  nearly  as  uni- 
verfal  as  the  belief  of  apparitions  of  the 
dead  ;  yet  it  will  not,  furely,  be  now  alien- 
ed of  them,  that  they  have  u  become  unir 
verfal  by  their  truth*." 

*  Cicero  adduces  this  very  fame  argument  of  the 
tiniverfality  of  belief  as  an  indubitable  proof  of  the 
yeracity  of  the  Delphic  Oracle. — De  Divin,  lib*  i» 


SPECTRAL    APPEARANCES;  QcJ<j 

It  may  be  further  obferved,   that  With 
regard  to  fuppofed    fpeclral  appearances, 
the  idea  of  them   has,    in  different  coun- 
tries  and  ages,  received  fuch  variations,  as 
might  be  expected  from  the  operation  of 
the  fancy  modified  by  variety  of  circum- 
fiances.     One  remarkable  diverfity  is,  that 
fimilar  things  are  reprefented  as  pafling  in 
a  vihonand  in  reality;  and  fometimes  it  is 
not  eafy  to  fay  which  of  the  two  is  in- 
tended.    The  famous  defcent  of   Eneas, 
after  all  the  difcumon  of  critics,   remains 
liable   to  a   doubt  of  this   kind;       It  is, 
however,  clearly  in  a  vifion  that  Eneas  is 
alarmed  by  the  fhade  of  Heclor  announ- 
cing the  irruption  of  the  Greeks'into  Troy  * 
and  that  he  is   admonifhed  by  the  mena- 
cing form  of  his  father  Anchifes  to  relin- 
quish Dido.     On   the  other  hand,   Dido 
herfelf,  at  the  dead  of  night,  but  not  in 
her  fleep,    hears  voices  calling  upon  her 
from  her  hufband's  tomb;    and   the  real 
fhade  of  Creufa,   in    a  form   larger   than 
life,  appears  to  confole  Eneas,     Ovid,    in 
his  beautiful  flory  of  Ceyx  and  Alcyone, 
dreflfes  up  a  vifionary  being  in  the  form  of 
!.he  drowned  hufband  to  acquaint  the  fleep-- 
LI 


2)0  LETTER       XXV. 

ing  wife  with  his  fate.  She  ftarts  awake  ; 
and,  as  the  poet  very  naturally  defcribes 
it,  looks  round  for  the  image  ihe  had  juft 
feen  before  her. 

-et  primo  fi  fit  circumfpicit  illic 


Qui  modo  vifus  erat. 

Met.  xi.  978. 

This  circurnftance  points  out  the  origin 
of  many    of  thefe  delufions   of  the  fancy. 
The   mind    ftrongly   impreffed    with  an 
image  which  has  been  haunting  it  during 
fleep,  is  fcarcely  able  to  difpel  the  phan- 
tom,  whilft   the    violent   emotion   which 
roufes  from  fleep,    ftill,  in    the    midft   of 
darknefs  and  folitude,  keeps  pofleflion  of 
the  feelings-     The   fenfation  on   waking 
from  a  dream  of  this  kind  refembles  the 
tingling,  of  a  bell  after  the  ftroke,  or  the 
flafh  in   the  clofed  eye  which   has  been 
gazing  at  the  fun.     The  impreflion  for  a 
time  continues,  but  with  lefs  and  lefs  force 
in  proportion  to  the  diftance  from  its  ori- 
ginal fource.    It  would  be  eafy  to  multiply 
inftances  in  which  the  poets,  thofe  faithful 
recorders  of  popular   fuperftitions,    have 
thus  wavered  between  vifion  and  reality  in 
their  reprefentations  of  the  commerce  with 
aerial  beings. 


SPECTRAL     APPEARANCES.  Vjl 

Variations    in  the   fuppofed    form  and 
manner  under  which  the  dead  have  ap- 
peared, and  in  the  purpofe  of  their  appari- 
tion, will  be  found   in  all  nations,  corref- 
ponding  to  the  manners,  religious  fyftem, 
and  natural  fcenery,  of  each  country.  Thus, 
fome    hear   the   fhriek   of   ghoits    in   the 
howling  ftorm,  fee  them  ftalk  gigantic  in 
the  grey  mill  upon  the  hill,   and  recognize 
their  voices  cheering  the  hounds  through 
the  dark  foreft,   or    over   the  wild  heath. 
Others  behold  them  clad   in  complete  ar- 
mour, mingling  in   the  ihock  of  battle, 
and  announcing  to  the  hero  his  approach- 
ing fate.   Where  the  want  of  funereal  rites 
was  confidered  as  the  greateft  of  evils,  the 
departed  fpirit  was  feen  naked,  (hivering, 
and  with  piteous  looks   and  accents    ear- 
neftly  requefting  the  boon  of  a  little  earth 
to  cover  its  bodily  remains.     Later  fyftems 
have  prefented  cherubic   forms  of  embo- 
died   light,   haggard  ihades  blackened  with 
infernal  fire,  and  difmal  fpedres  entreating 
to  be  relieved  from  the  torments  of  purga- 
tory ;    and  I  have  heard  of  a  crew  of  Eng- 
lilh  failors,  who  where  confident  they  faw 
ther  Wapping  landlord  pafs   by  them  on 
112 


$-/ 2  LETTER       XXV. 

Mount  Vefuvius,  and  march  into  hell 
through  a  fmoking  crevice  of  the  moun- 
tain. 

I  fhall  now  leave  it  to  yourfelf  to  de- 
termine, whether  univerfal  truth,  or  uni- 
verfal  illuhon,  is  moft  likely  to  afTume 
fuch  different  garbs ;  and  whether  it  be- 
comes a  man  of  fenfe  and  a  philofopher, 
to  reverfe  the  cafe  of  the  appellant  from 
king  Philip,  and  appeal  from  the  world 
fober  and  enlightened,   to  the  world  ignor 


loDe 


and  fanatical  ? 


(     273     ) 


LETTER    XXVL 


ON    CHEAP    PLEASURES, 


DEAR    SON, 

You  well    know   how    much   in  vain 
philofophers  of  all  ages  have  endeavoured 
to  detach  man  from  the  love  of  pleafure, 
and  to  fix   his  attention  on  fome  fole  and 
higheft  good,    which     might    render    all 
Others    foreign    and    fuperfluous.       The 
voice  of  nature  within  him  has  proved  too 
ftrong  to  be  filenced  by  artificial  precepts; 
and   mankind    have    ever  made   it  a  great 
pbjecl.  of  their  lives  to  enjoy  as  much  and 
as  various  pleafure  as  they  have  been  ca- 
pable of  procuring.      Taking  the  word  in 
its  large  fenfe,  and  extending  the  plan  of 
enjoyment  far  enough,    both  as  to  fpecies 
and  duration,  I   fee  no  reafon  to  find  fault 
with  the  purpofe  ;  and  I  expecl  no  benefit 
to  arife  from  eftablifhing  one    fyflem  of 
morals  for  the  fchopls,  and  another  fox 


2;4  LETTER       XXVI. 

real  life.  Suppofing,  then,  the  end  of  ob- 
taining pleafure  to  be,  within  certain  li- 
mits, an  allowable  one,  the  means  are  a 
fit  fubjed  on  which  thofe  who  are  expe- 
rienced in  the  world  may  communicate 
their  obfervations  to  thofe  who  have  its 
ielTons  yet  to  learn.  It  is  an  interefting 
topic,  and  its  difcuflion  is  fairly  within  the 
compafsof  human  reafon  and  knowledge. 

The  advice  of  contracting  our  defires, 
fo  much  infilled  on  by  all  the  moral  pre- 
ceptors of  antiquity,  is  a  very  important 
one  towards  the  attainment  of  true  felicity. 
It  would,  however,  be  a  miitake  to  fup- 
pofe  that  the  fuppreflion  of  defire,  in  it- 
felf,  leads  to  happinefs.  There  can  be 
no  enjoyments  without  defires ;  for  in  their 
gratification,  all  enjoyment,  as  well  intel- 
lectual as  fenfual,  confifls.  Thofe  feels, 
therefore,  which  infilled  on  the  entire 
abolition  of  defire,  as  necefifary  to  happi- 
nefs, were  influenced  by  an  artificial  philo- 
fophy,  which  fet  out  with  mifunderitand- 
ing  mans  real  nature  and  deftination.  But, 
on  the  other  hand,  unfatisfied  defires,  or 
rather,  fuch  as  we  have  no  reafonable 
nrofped  of  being  able  to  fatisfy,  are  the 
Sources  of  the' greatefl  calamities   of  life, 


CHEAP    PLEASURES.  %jg 

The  true  art  of  happinefs,  then,  confifts  iti 
proportioning  deiires  to  means,  or,  in 
other  words,  in  acquiring  a  relifh  for  pro- 
curable pleafures. 

There  is  fcarcely  a  ftation  in  life  in 
which  fome  attention  to  this  point  is  not 
neceffary  ;  for  defire  is  as  much  difpofed 
to  exceed  the  range  of  prefent  enjoyment 
in  the  higheft  as  in  the  lowed.  But  it  is 
more  peculiarly  neceffary  in  thofe  condi- 
tions, where  an  enlarged  plan  of  educa- 
tion, and  free  intercourfe  with  the  fuperior 
ranks  in  fociety,  have  foftered  lively  ideas 
of  gratifications  which  fortune  commonly 
refufes  the  means  of  obtaining.  What 
are  termed  the  genteel  profeflions  are 
eminently  of  this  kind ;  and  numbers  be- 
longing to  them  pay  a  fevere  tax  for  the 
privileges  annexed  to  their  fituation,  in 
the  perpetual  torment  of  unattainable 
wifhes. 

The  profeiuon  you  have  chofen,  my 
Son,  in  a  peculiar  manner  forbids  indulg- 
ing thofe  defires  which  are  connected  with 
the  poffemon  of  opulence.  To  be  made 
happy  it  is  requilite  that  you  mould  be 
made  cheaply  (o  ;  and  I  pleafe  myfelf  with 
thinking  that  many  fources  of  enjoyment 


Qj6  LETTER       XXVr* 

will  be  fully  acceflible  to  you,  which  will 
fcarcely  leave  you  behind  the  moft  for- 
tunate in  the  power  of  fecuring  genuine 
pleafures.  Taking  for  granted  that  you 
will  feek,  and  will  find,  the  higheft  of  all 
gratifications  in  the  performance  of  your 
profeflional  duty,  I  {hall  now  fuggeft  to 
you  fome  of  thofe  voluntary  obje&s  of 
purfuit,  which  may  moft  happily  employ 
your  leifure. 

At  the  head  of  all  the  pleafures  which 
offer  themfelves  to  the  man  of  liberal  edu- 
cation, may  confidently  be  placed  that  de- 
rived from  books.  In  variety,  durability, 
and  facility  of  attainment,  no  other  can 
Hand  in  competition  with  it;  and  even  ir* 
intenfity  it  is  inferior  to  few.  Imagine 
that  we  had  it  in  our  power  to  call  up 
the  {hades  of  the  greateft  and  wifeft  men 
that  ever  exifted,  and  obliged  them  to 
converfe  with  us  on  the  moft  interefting 

topics what    an    ineftimable   privilege 

mould  we  think  it ! — how  fuperior  to  all 
common  enjoyments!  But  in  a  well- 
furnifhed  library  we,  in  facl,  poffefs  this 
power.  We  can  queftion  Xenophon  and 
Caefar  on  their  campaigns,  make  Demof- 
thenes  and  Cicero  plead  before  us,  join 


CHEAP    PLEASURES.  $77 

in  the  audiences  of    Socrates  and    Plato, 
and  receive    demon ftrat ions    from  Euclid 
and    Newton.       In    books    we    have    the 
choicer!:  thoughts  of  the  ableft  men  in  their 
befl  drefs.     We  can  at  pleafure  exclude 
dulnefs  and  impertinence,   and  open  out- 
doors to  wit  and  good  fenfe  alone.     It  is 
needlefs  to  repeat  the  high  commendations 
that  have  been  bellowed  on  the  ftudy  of 
letters  by  perfons,  who  had  free  accefs  to 
every  other  fource  of  gratification.     In- 
itead  of  quoting  Cicero  to  you,  I  (hall   in 
plain  terms  give  you  the  remit  of  my  own 
experience  on  this   fubject.     If  domeftic 
enjoyments  have  contributed  in  the  firft 
degree  to  the  happinefs  of  my  life,  (and  I 
fliould  be,  ungrateful  not  to  acknowledge 
that  they  have)  the  pleafures  of  reading 
have  beyond  all   queftion  held  the  fecond 
place.     Without  books  I  have  never  been 
able  to  pafs  a  fmgle  day  to  my  entire  fatis- 
faction  :   with  them,  no   day  has  been  {o 
dark    as  not  to  have   its   pleafure.     Even 
pain  and  ficknefs  have  for   a   time  been 
charmed   away   by    them.       By  the  eafy 
provifion  of  a  book  in  my  pocket,    I  have 
frequently  worn  through  long  nights  and 
M  m 


Q78  tETTER      XXVf. 

days  in  the  moll  difagreeable  parts  of  my 
profeffion,  with  all  the  difference  in  my 
feelings  between  calm  content  and  fretful 
impatience.  Such  occurrences  have  af- 
forded me  full  proof  both  of  the  poflibility 
of  being  cheaply  pleafed,  and  of  the  con- 
fequence  it  is  of  to  the  fum  of  human  feli- 
city, not  to  negledl  minute  attentions  to 
make  the  mofl  of  life  as  it  paries. 

Reading  may  in  every  fenfe  be  called  a 
cheap  amufement.     A   tafte  for  books,  in- 
deed, may  be    made   expenlive    enough; 
but  that  is  a  tafte  for  editions,   bindings, 
paper  and  type*     If  you  are  fatisned  with 
getting  at  the  fenfe  of  an  author  in  fome 
commodious  way,   a  crown  at  a  flail  will 
fupply  your  wants  as  well  as  a  guinea  at  a 
ihop.     Learn,  too,  to  diflinguifh  between 
books  to  be  perufed,  and  books  to  be  pof- 
fejfed.     Of  the  former  you  may  find  an 
ample  flore  in  every  fubfcrrption  library, 
the  proper  ufe  of  which  to  a   fcholar  is 
to  furnifti  his  mind,   without  loading  his 
fhelves.     No   apparatus,  no  appointment 
of  time   and   place,  is   neceffary  for   the 
enjoyment  of  reading.     From  the  midfl 
of  buftle  and  bufmefs  you  may,   in  an  in- 
fant, by   the  magic  of  a   book,    plunge 


CHEAP    PLEASURES,  ^19 

into  fcenes  of  remote  ages  and  countries, 
and  difengage  yourfelf  from  prefent  care 
and  fatigue.  "  Sweet  pliability  of  mans 
fpirit,  (cries  Sterne,  on  relating  an  oc- 
currence of  this  kind  in  his  Sentimental 
Journey)  that  can  at  once  furrender  itfelf 
to  illufions,  which  cheat  expectation  and 
forrow  of  their  weary  moments'." 

The   next  of  the  procurable   meafures 
that  I  (hall  point  out  to  you   is  that  of 
converjation.     This  is  a  pleafure  of  higher 
zett  than  that  of  reading ;  fmce  in  con- 
verting we  not  only  receive  the  fentiments 
of  others,  but  impart  our  own;  and  from 
this  reciprocation  a  fpirit  and  intereft  arife 
which  books  cannot  give  in  an  equal  de- 
gree.    Fitnefs  for  convention  muft  de- 
pend upon  the  ftore  of  ideas  laid  up  in 
the  mind,   and  the  faculty  of  communi- 
cating them.     Thefe,   in  a  great  degree, 
are  the  refults  of  education  and  the  habit 
of  fociety,  and  to  a  certain  point  they  are 
favoured  by  fuperiority  of  condition.    But 
this  is  only  to  a  certain  point;   for  when 
you  arrive  at  that  clafs  in  which  fenfuality, 
indolence,  and  diffipation,  are  foftered  by 
excefs   of  opulence,   you  lofe  more  by  di- 
MmJ 


^80  LETTER       XXVI. 

ininifhed  energy  of  mind,  than  you  gain 
by  fuperior   refinement    of    manner   and 
elegance   of  expreflion.        And,     indeed, 
there  are   numbers    of    the   higher  ranko 
among  us,    whofe  converfation   has     not 
even  the  latter  qualities  to  recommend  it, 
but  to  poverty  of  fentiment  adds  the  ut- 
molt  coarfenefs   of  language  and  behavi- 
our.    There  is  a  radical  meannefs  in  de- 
bauchery^  which  even    in  the  moft    ele- 
vated   conditions    of   ail,     communicates 
the  taint  of  vulgarity.     To  hear  the  high- 
bred party  loudly  contending  in  the  praifes 
of  their  dogs  and  horfes,    and  difcu fling 
gambling  queftions,  intermixed  with  grow- 
er topics,  you  could  not  poflibly  diicover 
by  the  ft  vie  and  matter,  whether  you  were 
hTtening   to    the   mailers   above,    or    the 
grooms  below.     It  is  by  no  means  unfre- 
quent  to  find  the   beft  company,   the  worft 
ionverfation.     Should   your  character  and 
(ituation  for  ever   exclude  you  from  fuch 
focieties,  you  need  not  repine  at  your  lofs. 
It  will  be  amply  compenfated  by  the  op- 
portunities you  are  likely  to  enjoy  of  free 
intercourfe  with  the  moil  cultivated  and 
rational  of  both  fexes,  among  whom  de- 
cency of  manners  and  variety  of  know- 


CHEAP    PLEASURE?.  Q8l 

ledge  will  always  be  valued,  though  very 
moderately  decorated  with  the  advantages 
of  fortune. 

I  would  not,  however,  inculcate  too 
failidious  a  taile  with  repect  to  the  iubject 
nnd  ftyle  of  converfation,  provided  it  pof- 
fefs  the  eiTentials  of  found  fenfe  and  ufcful 
knowledge.  Among  thole  who  have 
enjoyed  little  of  the  benefit  of  education, 
you  will  often  find  perfons  of  natural  fagar- 
ciry  and  a  turn  for  remark,  who  are  capa- 
ble of  affording  both  entertainment  and 
inftruction.  Who  would  not  wifh  to  have 
been  acquainted  with  Franklin  when  a 
journeyman  printer,  even  though  he  had 
never  rifen  to  be  one  of  the  moll  diftiri- 
guifhed  characters  of  the  age?  Informa- 
tion, indeed,  may  be  procured  from  almoft 
any  man  in  affairs  belonging  to  his  parti- 
cular way  of  life  ;  and  when  we  fall  into 
company  from  which  little  is  to  be  ex- 
pected with  regard  to  general  topics,  it  is 
bell  to  give  the  converfation  a  turn  to- 
wards the  technical  matters  with  which 
they  may  be  acquainted,  whence  fome 
profit  may  be  made  out  of  the  moil  un- 
promiiing  materials.  Man,  too,  in  every 
condition,  is  a  iubject  well  worthy  of  exa- 


282  LETTER      XXVI, 

mination ;  and  the  fpeculatift  may  derive 
much  entertainment  from  obferving  the 
manners  and  fentiments  of  all  the  various 
claiTes  of  mankind  in  their  feveral  occu- 
pations and  amufements. 

A  nother  fource  of  cheap  pleafure  is  the 
Jlncy  of  nature.  So  many  advantages  with 
refpecl  to  healthy  tranquillity  of  mind, 
ufeful  knowledge  and  inexhauftible  amule- 
ment,  are  united  in  this  ltudy,that  I  mould 
not  fail  molt  warmly  to  recommend  it  to 
your  notice,  had  you  not  already  acquired 
a  decided  tafte  for  its  purfuits.  Here, 
again,  I  can  fpeak  from  my  own  expe- 
rience ;  for  the  fiudy  of  Englifh  botany 
caufed  feveral  fummers  to  glide  away  with 
me  in  more  pure  and  active  delight  than 
almoft  any  other  lingle  object  ever  af- 
forded me.  It  rendered  every  ride  and 
walk  intere fling,  and  converted  the  plod- 
ding rounds  of  bufmefs  into  excurfions  of 
pleafure.  From  the  impreflion  of  thefe 
feelings,  I  have  ever  regarded  as  perfectly 
hiperfluouS  the  pains  taken  by  fome  of 
the  friends  of  natural  hiftory,  to  fhew  its 
utility  in  reference  to  the  common  pur- 
pofes  of  life.  Many  of  their  obfervations, 
ed?   are   true,  and  may  ferve  to  gain 


CHEAP    PLEASURES.  283 

patrons  for   the  ftudy   among   thofe  who 
meafure   every  thing   by  the  ftandard  of 
economical  value ;  but  is  it  not  enough  to 
open  a  fource  of  copious  and  cheap  amufe- 
ment,  which  tends  to  harmonize  the  mind, 
and  elevate  it  to  worthy  conceptions  of 
nature  and  its  author?     If   I  offer  a  man 
happinefs  at    an  eafy  rate,   unalloyed  by 
any   debating  mixture,    can   I    confer  on 
him  a  greater  bleffing  ?    Nothing  is  more 
favourable  to  enjoyment  than  the  combi- 
nation of  bodily   exertion  and  ardour  of 
mind.       This,    the   refearches    of  natural 
hiftory   afford    in   great  perfe&ion ;    and 
fuch  is  the  immenfe  variety  of  its  objecfts, 
that  the  labours  of  the  longefl  life  cannot 
exhauft  them. 

The  ftudy  of  nature  is  in  itfelf  a  cheap 
ftudy  ;  yet  it  may  be  purfued  in  a  very  ex- 
penfive  manner,  by  all  the  apparatus  of 
cabinets,  purchafed  collections,  prints  and 
drawings.  But  if  you  will  content  your- 
felf  with  the  great  book  of  nature  and  a 
few  of  its  ableft  expofitors,  together  with 
the  riches  your  own  induftry  may  accu- 
mulate, you  will  find  enough  of  it  within 
your  compafs  to  anfwer  all  reafonable 
purpofes  of  inftruclion   and  amufement. 


284  LETTER       XXVI," 

We  are  both  acquainted  with  an  excellent 
naturalift*,  who,  by  a  proper  application 
of  the  time  and  money  he  has  been  able 
to  fpare  out  of  a  common  writing  fchool, 
has  made  himielf  the  pofleflbr  of  more 
curious  and  accurate  knowledge  than  falls 
to  the  lot  of  manv  owners  of  the  moll 
c ofl.lv  treafures.  The  recollection  of  his. 
modeil  merit  and  fcientific  content  will 
ever,  I  am  fure,  endear;  to  you  thefe  fertile 
ilores  of  cheap  delight, 

A  tafle  for  the  fublime  and  beautiful  of 
nature,  as  exhibited  in  her  larger  works, 
and  refulting  from  the  varied  combina- 
tions of  her  external  forms,  is  alfo  produc- 
tive of  many  exquifite  pleafures,  which 
few  perfons  are  at  all  times  precluded 
from  enjoying,  To  feel  thefe  in  a  fu- 
preme  degree,  a  mind  enriched  by  litera- 
ture and  expanded  by  fancy  and  reflection 
fs  necefTary;  and,  in  particular,  a  high 
relifh  for  poetry  is  almofl  an  eflential  ac- 
companiment. Much  pains  do  not  feem 
requifite  in  cultivating  this  fpecies  of  en- 
joyment, for  it  obtrudes  itlelf  unfought 
upon  every  elegant  mind,  and  the  danger 
is,  left  the  defire  mould  too  foon  exhauil 
*  Mr,  Wigg,  of  Yarmouth. 


CHEAP    PLEASURES.  2$y 

ib  oojecls.  More  uneafy  longings  after 
what  ky  beyond  my  reach,  have  preyed 
upon  my  imagination  on  reading  defcrip- 
tions  of  the  Itriking  fcenes  of  nature  vifited 
by  travellers,  than  on  rerlecling  on  all  the 
other  advantages  which  fortune  and  leifure 
have  to  beftow.  Yet,  certainly,  I  would 
not  wifh  to  have  been  lefs  feniible  than  I 
am  to  this  fource  of  pleafurable  emotions. 
They  may  be  rendered  more  diftindt  and 
varied,  by  calling  in  a  tafte  for  what  is 
properly  termed  the  piciurcfqiie,  or  a  refer- 
ence of  the  natural  fcene  to  its  imitations 
and  improvements  by  the  pencil.  But 
this  I  conceive  to  be  almoft  neceflarily 
conliecled  with  practical  (kill  in  the  art  of 
painting ;  and  unlefs  it  were  made  fubfer- 
vient  to  the  purpofes  of  this  art,  I  mould 
apprehend  that  more  might  be  loft  by 
opening  an  inlet  to  faftidious  nicety,  than 
would  be  gained  by  viewing  things  with  a 
more  learned  eye. 

This  remark  would  naturally  lead  me  to 
confider  the  pleafures  to  be  derived  from 
the  praclice  of  ornamental  arts,  and  from 
the  contemplation  of  their  productions  in 
others.  But  though  I  am  fully  feniible  of 
Nn 


286  L  2  T  T  E  R       XXVr. 

the  pleafing  addition  thefe  make  to  the  ge* 
neral  flock  of  human  enjoyment,  yet  with 
refpect  to  moft  individuals,  they  fcarcely 
come  within  the  catalogue  of  cheap  plea- 
fures.  A  tafte  for  them  muft  be  formed 
early  in  life,  muft  be  cultivated  with  much 
afliduity,  and  at  confiderable  expence  both 
of  time  and  money.  They  are  not  of  all 
times  and  places,  but  require  apparatus 
and  opportunity.  They  are  with  diffi- 
culty kept  within  bounds,  and  are  conti- 
nually difpofed  to  defert  the  eafy  and 
fimple,  in  purfuit  of  what  is  mere  complex 
and  elaborate.  A  tafte  for  mufic  appears 
to  me,  as  far  as  I  can  judge  from  obferva- 
tion  alone,  to  be  eminently  of  this  kind. 
Where  it  is  marked  out  by  -nature,  as  in 
fome  cafes  it  manifeftly  is,  and  can  be  cul- 
tivated early  and  advantageoufly,  it  is  ca- 
pable, I  doubt  not,  of  affording  the  moft 
exquifite  delights,-  but  then  it  will  proba- 
bly take  place  of  all  other  ornamental  ac- 
quirements. And  though  fuch  a  facrifice 
may  be  worth  making  under  the  circum- 
ftan-ces  defcribed,  yet  to  make  it  with  a 
view  of  creating  a  tafte  for  any  purfuit 
merely  amufive,  is,  I  think,  to  eltima-tc 
falfely  the  value  of  things.     Ift  however. 


CHEAP    PLEASURES.  287 

experience  {hews  that  mufical  pleafures 
may  be  enjoyed  in  moderation,  and  fo  as 
to  make  an  agreeable  variety,  without  oc- 
cupying the  place  of  any  thing  preferable, 
my  objections  are  at  an  end.  The  fame 
may  be  faid  of  drawing,  and  various  other 
talles  and  acquifitions,  concerning  which, 
accident  and  inclination,  if  regulated  by 
prudence,  may  be  fuftered  to  determine 
the  choice. 

I  have  now,  I  think,  pointed  out  to 
you  fources  which  will  fupply  fufficient 
materials  of  eafily  procurable  pleafure,  if 
you  bring  to  them  what  is  abfolutely  eflen- 
tial  to  the  fuccefs  of  any  external  means 
of  happinefs — a  mind  in  harmony  with 
itfelf.  This,  nothing  but  confcious  worth 
and  virtue  can  bellow.  This,  "  tibi  ipfe 
parabis," 

Farewell ! 


Nn  2 


(     28fi     ) 

1 


LETTER    XXVII, 


ON    ATTACHMENT  TO  COUNTRY. 


You,    I   doubt  not,    have    experience^ 
as  well  as  myfelf,  that  one  of  the  earlieft 
paflions  which  difclofes  itfelf  in   a  courfe 
of  liberal  education,  is  Patriotifm.     In  the 
moral  fyftem  of  the  Greeks  and  Romans, 
love  to  country  flood  Co  high  in  the  clafs 
of  duties,  that  he  who  reads  their  writers, 
and  is  impreffed  with  admiration  of  their 
illuftrious    characters,    cannot   fail    of  re- 
garding it  as  one  of  the    qualities  which 
moft  ennobles  a  man.      I  well  recollect  the 
period,  when  ftories  of  Curtii  and  Decii, 
and  the  lofty  fentences  of  orators  and  poets, 
inculcating  the    molt  devoted  attachment 
?o  country,  kindled  a  flame  of  enthufiaflic 
rapture  in  my  breait ;   and  I  verily  believe 
there  was    nothing  in  which  I   could  not 
have    imitated  the  great  exemplars  of  this 
virtue.     Every  thing   in  a   youth  which 


ATTACHMENT  TO  COUNTRY.  Q8^ 

carries  him  out  of  felf,   and  difpofes  him 
to    make  facrifices  to    principle,    deierves 
encouragement  ;   but  when  a  duty  becomes 
a    pafiion,     it  is    ever    ready   to    pafs   its 
bounds,  and  encroach   upon  fome    other 
duty  equally  facred,     In  my  own   cafe,   I 
confefs  that  I  was  difpofed  to   go  all   the 
lengths   of  a  true  Roman  ;    and  that    the 
glory  and  intereil  of  my  country  became 
in  my  eyes  paramount  to  all  conliderations 
of  general  juitice    and   benevolence.       I 
adopted  in  its  full  meaning  the  term  natio* 
ral  enemies,  and  in  confequence,  (as   thefe 
fentiments  were  imbibed  during  the  courie 
of  a  widely-extended    war   in   which   we 
were  engaged)  heartily  hated  a   great  por- 
tion of  mankind.      I  am  at  prefent  (hock- 
ed  at  the  extremes  to  which   I   was  carried 
by  this  fpirit,  which  certainly  was  not  de- 
rived from  parental  initruction  and  exam- 
ple.      But   it    will   fcrve   to  illuitrate   the 
power  of  early   impreflions  ;  and   alio    to 
prove,    that    the    imagination    being     fq 
much  more  concerned  than  the  reafon  in 
forming    thofe    impreflions,    it   is    of  the 
higheft  importance  in  education  that  pro- 
per objects  mould  be  put  in  its  way.     The 
influence    of  thefe  aHbciations  continued 


<2gO  LETTER       XXVII. 

with  me  after  better  principles  ought  to 
have  taken  its  place  ;  and  national  preju- 
dices of  every  fort  had  a  long  reign  over 
my  mind. 

Circumitances  have  probably  operated 
in  a  different  manner  upon  your  feelings  ; 
but  where  a  point  of  great  confequence  to 
the  formation  of  character  is  concerned,  it 
is  not  right  to  trull  to  their  cafual  opera- 
tion. Let  us  examine,  then,  if  we  cannot 
difcover  fome  determinate  principles  to 
regulate  our  attachment  to  country.  There 
are  two  ways  in  which  this  affection  may 
exert  an  influence  over  us ; — as  it  fways 
our  opinions,  and  as  it  directs  our  con^ 
duct. 

The  opinions  of  men  are  perpetually  at 
the  mercy  of  their  paffions.  Eiteem  and 
contempt  run  parallel  with  love  and  ha- 
tred ;  and  it  is  as  hard  to  find  merit  in  a 
foe,  as  to  difcover  defects  in  a  friend,  or, 
ftill  more,  in  ourfelves.  But  opinions 
thus  biafled  are  in  reality  prejudices,  and 
he  whofe  purpofe  is  the  purfuit  of  truth, 
cannot  too  loon  get  rid  of  them.  In  the 
comparative  eltimate  commonly  made  of 
own  and  other  countries,  the  grolTefl 
pf  partialities  prevail,  which,  though  they 


ATTACHMENT  TO  COUNTRY.      $Qt 

may  occasionally  prove  ufeful  to  the  com- 
munity,  yet    are  always  degrading  to  the' 
individual.     Lord  Chefierfield,  in  a  paper; 
in  the    World,  on  the  ule   of  prejudices, 
introduces  an  honeft  cobbler  who,  among 
other  fimilar  opinions,    entertains   a    full 
perfuafion  that  one  Englifhman  can  beat 
three  Frenchmen  ;    and  his   Lordfhip  afks, 
if  it  would  be  right  to  attempt  convincing 
him  that  this   is  an  erroneous  notion.     X 
mall  not  meddle  with  this  queflion  ;   I  mail 
only  fay,  that  I  do  not  wifli  you  to  be  the 
cobbler.      I   know    however,   feveral   per- 
fons  much  above  his  condition,    nay  even 
men  of  learning  and  talents,   who  eftimate 
in   nearly  the  fame  ratio   our  fuperiorky 
over  other  nations,    in  fcience,    literature, 
and  every  other  valuable  endowment.      It 
is  common  to  fay,   I  am  proud  of  being  an 
Englifhman.     This  is  an  accurate  expref- 
lion,  for  the  emotion  of  pride  has  a  great 
concern  in  thefe  fentiments.     In  valuing 
Our   country,  we  fet   a  value    upon  our- 
felves ;  and  flight  grounds  ferve  us  for  af- 
ferting  a  pre-eminence  in  which  we  per-' 
fonally  partake.     Bui  for  that  very  reafon, 
we  ought  to   fufpec~t   the   validity  of  our 


2g2  L  E  f  T  E  K      xxvif. 

conclufions,  efpecially  when  we  fee  the 
univerfal  propenfky  to  theie  local  prefers 
ences,  which  cannot  all  be  well-founded. 
Ordinary  writers  cannot  compofe  a  hiftory 
of  the  town  or  county  in  which  they  were 
born,  or  the  fchool  where  they  learned 
their  grammar,  without  many  ridiculous 
attempts  to  give  them  extraordinary  con- 
fequence.  Having  been  conhderably  con- 
verfant  with  topographical  publications,  I 
have  had  an  opportunity  of  obferving  the 
workings  of  this  little  fpirit  in  all  its  modes ; 
and  nothing  has  contributed  more  to  make 
me  folicitous  in  detecting  my  own  preju- 
dices, and  labouring  for  their  removal. 

If,  then,  after  a  fober  and  accurate  en- 
quiry, you  mould  find  reafon  to  conclude 
that  your  country  does  not  fo  much  excel 
all  others  in  learning,  induftry,  and  libe- 
rality as  you  were  inclined  to  fuppofe,  let 
no  prepoffefiicn  in  its  favour  becaufe  it  is 
yours,  prevent  you  from  admitting  the 
fact  with  all  its  confequences.  Rather  try 
to  fearch  out  the  caufes  which  may  have 
impeded  our  progrefs,  or  even  occafioned 
a  retrograde  motion ; — and  doubt  not  that 
you  will  thereby  render  yourfelf  a  better 


ATTACHMENT  TO  CdUNTttV.  20J 

friend  to  your  country,  as  well  as  a  wifef 
man,  than  if  you  were  to  perfevere  in  fup- 
porting  a  flattering  delufion. 

Let  me,   however,   warn  you   (and  my- 
felf,  at  the  fame  time)  that  there  is  an  op- 
polite    fource    of    error.       CircumftanceS 
may  put  us   in  a  temporary  ill    humour 
with  our  country  ;    and  as  the  quarrels  of 
kindred  are  the  moil  inveterate^  we  may  in- 
dulge too  bitter  a  refentment  on  the  occa- 
iion.  In  this  ftate  of  mind,  we  (hall  be  apt 
to    depreciate  her  advantages,    and  think 
worfe  of  her  in  every  refpecfl  than  file  de- 
ferves.   In  the  comparifon  with  other  Coun- 
tries, we  fhall  look  at  her  defects  alone,  and 
give  her  rivals  credit  for  more  excellence 
than  they  really  poffefs.     This  is  not  only 
a  very  unpleafant  difpofition    to  ourfelves 
and  others,  but  leads  to  error  as  certainly 
as  the  oppofite  temper.      Of  one   thing, 
too,  we  may  be  well  arTured — ^that  a  coun- 
try  in  which    our  language,    habits,  and 
modes  of  living  and  thinking  have  been 
formed,    is    better    qualified   to  make  us 
happy,   than  another  which  may  be   in- 
trinhcally  preferable  ;    and  therefore  the 
opinions  that  we  have  imbibed  in  its  fa- 
Oo 


2^4  LETTER      XXVII. 

vour  are  not,  with  refpect  to  ourfelves, 
errors.  If  the  Greenlander's  chief  de- 
lights are  feal  fifhing  and  eating  whales  fat, 
he  does  right  in  refufing  to  exchange  his 
icy  region  for  a  climate  more  blefTed  with 
iolar  influence. 

If  we  now  proceed  to  confider  the  con- 
duct that  a  reafonable  attachment  to  coun- 
try mould  prefcribe,    I  queftion  not  but 
we  fhall  perfectly  agree  in  the  moral  prin- 
ciples by  which  it  is  to  be  regulated-     It 
cannot  be  doubted,  that  by  the  diftribution 
which  providence  has  made  of  mankind 
into  feparate  communities,   connected  in 
a  peculiar  manner  by  ties  of  mutual  ad- 
vantage,  a  correfpondent  limitation  of  the 
focial  duties   in  their  general  courfe  was 
intended.      Our   powers  of  adion  being- 
confined,  the  fphere  in  which  they  operate 
muft   alfo  have  its  boundaries.     Country 
is   the  wideft  extent  to  which  moft  men 
can  diffufe  the  influence  of  their  condud. 
We  are  therefore  bound  firft  and  prefer- 
ably to  promote  the  welfare  of  our  country, 
becaufe  we  can  promote  it  to  more  effecT 
than  that  of  any  other.     But  this,    I  think, 
is  not  the  only  fource  of  our  obligations  to 
patriotifrn, 


ATTACHMENT  TO  COUNTRY.      Qgfj 

The  debt  of  gratitude  which  we  have 
incurred   to   our  country  has   been   very 
differently  eftimated    by  different  moral- 
ifts ;   nor,  perhaps,   is   it  eafy  to  lay  down 
any  univerfal  rule  for  calculating  it.     That 
we  have  breathed  her  common   air,  and 
been  received  upon  her  bofom,  feems  no 
great  matter  for  obligation — it  is  rather  a 
debt  owing  to  the  Author  of  nature,  than 
to  her.     The  nurture  and  education  we 
have  had,  are,   in  moil  cafes,   the  gift  of 
our  parents,   who  have  perhaps  employed 
their    utmoft  exertions    to    procure   them 
for  us.     We  have  been  protected  by   the 
public  force  ;   but  of  this  force  we  our- 
ielves,  either  by  our  perfons  or  contribu- 
tions, have  formed  a  part ;   and  if  we  have 
only  been  fecured  in  the  enjoyment  of  fuch 
advantages  as  the   labour  of  our  head  or 
hands  might  reasonably  entitle  us  to,   we 
may  fairly  be  reckoned  to  have  balanced 
accounts    with    our  country.      Thofe,   in- 
deed,   who  poffefs    advantages  much   be- 
yond  the  common  fhare,  for  which  they 
contribute    nothing    adequate    in     return, 
and  which  are  held  merely  through  favour 
of  their  country's  inftitutions,  feern  to  owe 
Oo  2 


ZgS  LETTER       XXyil, 

it  peculiar  fervice  and  attachment.  They 
are  pen  Turners  of  the  date,  and  are  in  ho- 
nour bound  to  exert  themfelves  in  a  par- 
ticular manner  for  its  benefit.  The  foil 
which  feeds  them,  as  it  nouriflies  the  un- 
toiling  race  of  vegetables,  may  claim  their 
arms  at  all  times  for  its  defence.  But  it 
Teems  enough  that  one  who  has  done  as 
much  for  fociety,  as  fociety  for  him, 
fhould  comply  with  thofe  conditions,  which 
the  laws  under  which  he  continues  to  live, 
impoTe  upon  him- 

Thefe  views  of  the  fubjecl  are,  I  think, 
juft,  if  country  be  regarded  in  the  abftradt, 
as  a  kind  pf  geographical  idea  perfonified  ; 
or  if  a  community  be  confidered  as  an  af- 
femblage  of  men,  totally  unconnected  in 
every  other  refpecl,  than  the  purpofe  for 
the  fake  of  which  they  have  formed  their 
union.  But  is  it  not  in  fact  fomething 
more  ?  Does  not  country  comprehend 
all  thofe  individuals  to  whom  we  lie  under 
every  obligation  that  one  human  being  can 
incur  to  another  ?  Cicero  fays,  finely  and 
JujOfcly,  "  Omnes  omnium  caritates  patria 
una  complexa  eft."  I  may  owe  nothing 
to  England,  but  I  owe  every  thing  to  Eng- 
limmen.       When    I    reflect,     that   there 


ATTACHMENT  TO  COUNTRV.      SOJ 

fcarcely  exifts  on  earth  an  object  of  my 
affection  and  gratitude  which  this  ifiand 
does  not  contain,  and  that  all  their  parti- 
cular interefls  are  involved  in  its  general 
intereft,  can  I  doubt  that  here  the  active 
duties  of  my  life  are  centered,  and  that  I 
ought  to  wi(h  for,  and  by  all  juflinable 
means  to  promote,  th&  happinefs  of  thofe 
who  inhabit  this  fpot  of  the  globe  ?  Thus, 
the  patriotifm  that  I  loft  by  placing  it  on 
too  extenfive  but  unfound  a  foundation,  I 
recover  again  by  narrowing  and  ft  length- 
ening its  bafis.  It  re-appears,  indeed,  in 
a  form  fomewhat  different.  It  no  longer 
makes  me  folicitous  for  laurels  and  tro- 
phies to  decorate  the  Genius  of  Britain ; 
for  well  I  know  how  dearly  they  are  paid 
for  out  of  the  comforts  of  individuals. 
Still  lefs  does  it  prompt  me  to  wifh  fuc- 
cefs  to  its  unjuft  projects;  for  I  would  not 
defire  that  my  beft  friend  {hould  thrive  by 
fuch  means.  But  it  makes  me  ardently 
defirous  of  my  country's  improvement  in, 
knowledge,  virtue,  freedom,  and  the  arts 
of  peace;  for  every  advance  in  thefe  re- 
fpecls  muft  be  of  real  benefit,  not  only  to 
a  large  number  of  my  fellow-creatures,  but 


QgS  letter     xxvir.' 

to  that  portion  of  them  which  includes  all 
whom  I  love. 

If  you  feel  inclined  to  propofe  the  quef- 
tion,  What,  upon  this  fyftem,  would  be- 
come of  your  patriotifm  fhould  the  majori- 
ty of  your  friends  be  compelled  to  migrate 
into  another  land  ? — I  will  anticipate  it 
by  freely  conferring,  that  the  fentiment 
would  follow  them — "  Ubi  cor,  ibi  pa- 
tria."  But  fuch  an  event  is  inconceiv- 
able, unlefs  fuch  principles  and  practices 
fhould  come  to  prevail  here,  as  would  juf- 
tify  not  only  indifference,  but  averfion, 
to  a  felf-degraded  country.  I  think  I 
could,  without  murmuring,  or  a  wifh  to 
defert  my  native  foil,  fubmit  to  the  necef-* 
fary  diftrefTes  brought  on  by  a  decline  of 
its  profperity,  though  originally  occafioned 
by  its  own  fault,  provided  it  were  attended 
with  juft  fentiments,  and  melioration  of 
character.  But  if  it  mould  grow  more 
unprincipled  as  more  dirtrefled,  and  take 
refuge  from  the  evils  of  political  difTen- 
fion  in  voluntary  blindnefs  and  flavery,  I 
fhould  think  every  bond  cancelled  which 
attached  individuals  to  fuch  a  commu- 
nity. 


ATTACHMENT  TO  COUNTRY.      2gg 

But  1  will  not  conclude  with  fo  inaufpi- 
cious  a  fuppofition.  I  rather  hope  that  we 
{hall  be  permitted  to  love  and  efteem  our 
country,  as  much  from  reafon,  as  we  have 
done  from  habit  and  prejudice.  Such,  I 
am  fure,  muft  be  the  wifh  of  every  good 
heart, 

Adieu  I 


(     3™     ) 


LETTER    XXVIII 


ON    INDEPENDENCE. 


DEAR  SON* 

One  of  the  principal  purpofes  I  had  ill 
view  when  I  pointed  out  to  you  the  fources 
of  cheap  pleafure,  was  to  lay  a  foundation 
for  your  independence  in  life.  This  inva- 
luable porTeffion,  which  fo  many  avow  to 
be  the  great  objecl  of  their  lives,  yet 
which  fo  few  attain,  is  well  worthy  of  be- 
ing made  the  topic  of  a  feparate  letter* 

Let  us  firft  confider  how  far  the  idea  of 
independence  can  be  reafonably  carried* 
It  was,  you  know,  the  boaft  of  ancient 
philofophy,  that  by  following  its  precepts, 
men  might  attain  a  felicity  over  which  no- 
thing external  had  power ;  and  in  the  high- 
flown  language  of  Stoicifm,  the  truly  wife 
man  was  reprefented  as  equally  fufficient 
for  his  own  happinefs  with  the  Gods  them- 


OH    INDEPENDENCE.  50 1 

felves.  If  this  afTertion,  when  accurately 
examined,  had  lefs  of  impiety  than  at  firrt 
fight  appears,  (fince  it  was  founded  rather 
on  the  imagined  elevation  of  the  human 
mind  to  an  unattainable  degree  of  perfec- 
tion, than  on  a  debafement  of  the  divine 
mind)  it  was,  however,  chargeable  with 
originating  in  falfe  conceptions  of  the  na- 
ture and  condition  of  man.  In  facl,  we 
are  incapable,  by  our  utmoft  efforts,  of 
raifing  ourfelves  above  the  influence  of 
contingencies ;  and  the  mod  efTential  com- 
forts of  our  exigence  will  ever  be  greatly 
dependent  on  things  without  ourfelves. 
After  all  the  deductions  that  the  moral 
fatirift  could  make  from  our  defires  on  ac- 
count of  their  vanity*  he  could  not  deny, 
that  the  4t  found  mind  in  a  found  body" 
was  a  fit  object  of  petition,  fince  we  could 
not  fecure  it  for  ourfelves.  It  is  further 
certain,  that  the  focial  and  domeftic  plea- 
fur.es,  thofe  pureft  and  molt  fatisfaclory  of 
all  delights,  next  to  that  of  confcious  vir- 
tue, are  all  at  the  mercy  of  the  perfons 
with  whom  we  live.  With  how  fmall  a 
(hare  of  bodily  comforts  life  might  fubfrfr, 
snd  ftill  be  worth  pofleding,  we  have  not 


302  l  t  T  T  E  R       XXVIII, 

been  in  the  way  of  trying  ;  but  certainly 
we  are   not  prepared  to  refign  with  indif- 
ference thofe  we  enjoy ;  and  yet  their  con- 
tinuance does  not  abfolutely  depend  upon 
our  own    efforts.       No   man,    therefore, 
ftriclly   fpeaking,   is  independent.       The 
author  of  our  being   has  connected  us  by 
mutual  wants  to  each  other ;  and  has  given 
no  one  the  power  of  faying,  I  will  be  hap- 
py in  fpite  of  my  fellow-creatures*     Ex- 
perience, however,  (hews,  that  fome  men 
are  in  a  high  degree  independent  compared 
to  others ;   and  from  a   fuperiority  in  this 
refpect  arife  fome  of  the  noblefl  preroga- 
tives of  the  human  character* 

That  man  may  be  faid  to  enjoy  inde- 
pendence relatively  to   other  men,  who, 
wants  nothing  which  they  can  withhold. 
If  either  his  utility   to  them  is  fuch  as  to 
command  all  the  return  from  them  that  he 
willies,   or  if  what  they  have  to  bellow  is 
a  thing  on  which  he  fets  no  value,  he  is  in 
every  ufeful  fenfe  independent   on  them. 
And  if  this  be  his  fituation  with  refpeel  to 
the  world  in  general,  he  is  fo  far  indepen- 
dent on  the   world.      Now   an  indepen- 
dence of  this  kind  has  ineitimable  advan- 
tages.    It  makes  a  man  walk  through  life 


ON    INDEPENDENCE.  303 

erec*l  and  fearlefs,  beftows  on  him  all  due 
liberty  of  fpeaking  and  a&ing,    levels   be- 
fore him  all  the  artificial  diftinclions  which 
keep  one  human  being  at  a  diftance  from 
another,    and  by  procuring  him  his  own 
refpecl,  goes  a  great  way  in  acquiring  for 
him  that  of  others,  or  enables  him  to  dif- 
penfe  with  it.     He   who  is  independent 
cannot  be   greater.       He  looks  down  on 
the  mofl  profperous  of  thofe,  who  in  the 
purfuit    of    wealth  .and    honour    enflave 
themfelves  to  the  will  of  another,  and  feels 
an  internal  dignity  to  which  they  can  never 
arrive.     In  order  to   induce  him  to  acl  in 
any  particular  manner,  his  reafon  mufl  be 
convinced,  or   his  good-will  conciliated  ,• 
whereas  the  bare  command  of  a  fuperior 
is  to  them  a  fufficient  motive.     The  im- 
perious necemties  which  conftrain  them  on 
every   fide,    have  no    force    upon    him. 
When  Whifton,  in  the  honeft  franknefs  of 
his  heart,    reproached  Sir  Richard  Steel 
with  giving  a  vote  in  parliament  contrary 
to   his  declared  opinion,  "  Mr.  Whiflon, 
(faid  Sir  Richard)    you  can  walk  on  foot, 
but  I  cannot."     This  was  a  fair  confeflion 
of  inferiority  ;  and  after  it,  if  Steel  riding 
in  bis  chariot  could  for  an  inftant  fancy 
Pp  2 


304  LETTER       XXVIII. 

himfelf  greater  than  Whifton  on  foot,  ha 
deferved  to  forfeit  all  title  to  a  place 
^mong  the  liberal  and  enlightened  fpiritg 
of  his  time.  Whifton,  doubtlefs,  knew 
how     to     eftimate     him.  Poor    man  ! 

(would  he  probably  fay,  on  feeing  him 
drive  by)  how  low  have  your  wants  re- 
reduced  you*  !"  Horace  has  atoned  for 
all  his  adulation  by  the  independent  fpirit 
which  continually  breaks  forth  in  his 
works,  and  which  led  him,  in  one  of  his 
epiftles  to  Maecenas,  very  plainly  to  hint 
that  he  was  ready  to  refign  all  he  had  con- 
ferred upon  him,  rather  than  give  up  his 
free-agency. 

Hac  ego  11  compellar  imagine^  cunda  refigno. 

But  I  need  not  longer  dwell  upon  the 
value  of  independence  ;  let  us  proceed  to 
enquire  how  it  is  to  be  obtained. 

*  Whifton  was  probably  in  another  fenfe  the  moft 
independent  of  the  two.  The  poet  Linieres,  fay$ 
Menage,  being  reproached  with  always  walking 
on  foot,  replied  extempore  in  the  following  epi-* 
gram. 

Je  vois  d'illuftres  cavaliers 

Avcc  laquais,  carofle  &  pages : 

Mais  ils  doivent  leurs  equipages? 

Et  je  ne  dois  pas  mes  fouliers. 


ON    INDEPENDENCE.  305 

In  the  firft  place,  it  certainly  is  not  the 
neceffary  refult  of  a  man's  abiblute  filia- 
tion in  life.  Raife  his  rank  and  fortune  as 
liigh  as  you  pleafe,  if  his  ambition,  ava- 
rice, or  love  of  pleafure,  rife  beyond  them, 
he  becomes  as  dependent  as  the  wretch 
who  receives  his  daily  bread  at  the  will  of 
a  mailer.  Nay,  fo  much  does  the  habit 
of  looking  for  remote  and  elaborate  fources 
pf  enjoyment  gain  upon  the  difpofition, 
and  furpafs  all  common  means  of  gratifi- 
cation, that  the  higheit.  ranks  have  in  al- 
moft  ail  countries  been  diltinguifhed  by 
their  fuperior  fervility.  In  the  moil  bril- 
liant periods  of  the  French  monarchy, 
there  was  not  a  perfon  of  quality  whofe 
whole  exiltence  did  not  depend  upon  the 
nod  of  the  court ;  and  though  almofi  un- 
controlled lords  of  wide  domains  abound- 
ing with  delights,  a  cold  look  at  the  levee 
froze  every  fpring  of  pleafure  in  their 
fouls.  That  a  man  was  nothing  in  France 
but  for  the  king,  and  by  the  king,  (pour 
le  roi,  et  par  le  roi)  came  to  be  the  re- 
ceived maxim ;  and  no  methods  were 
thought  too  mean  for  the  haughtier!  of 
mortals  to  employ,  in  order  to  preferve 
their  interefr  at  court.     Very  vain,  there- 


go6  LETTER       XXVIII." 

fore,  it  is  to  propofe  independence  as  the 
prize  of  a  life  fpent  in  the  fuccefsful  prac- 
tice of  "  ftooping  to  rife."  The  object 
is  loft  in  the  purfuit,  for  its  true  feat  is  in 
the  mind. 

To  be  content  with  a  little,  and  to  fe- 
cure  that  little  by  the  exertions  of  ufeful 
induftry,  is  the  only  certain  method  of  be- 
coming independent.  Both  thefe  points 
muft  concur  ;  for  neither  can  the  wants  of 
life,  however  few,  be  fupplied  by  ourfelves 
without  induftry ;  nor  can  this  quality 
alone  procure  content.  The  Indian  fa- 
kecT  who  fits  all  day  with  his  arms  irudif- 
folubly  knit,  to  receive  the  food  that  de- 
votees put  into  his  mouth,  is  no  more  in- 
dependent than  the  buftling  mifer  of  Ho- 
race, who  runs  to  the  Indies  through  fear 
of  the  demon  of  poverty.  Thofe,  how- 
ever,, who  have  made  the  cultivation  of 
their  minds  the  great  object  of  life,  have 
chiefly  purfued  the  plan  of  contracting 
their  defires,  and  forcing  nature  to  be  fa- 
tisfied  with  as  few  things  as  poflible  ;  for, 
considering  all  the  time  as  loft  which  was 
fpent  upon  providing  for  bodily  wants, 
they  began  with  bringing  thefe  into  the 
fmalleft   compafs   in  their  power.     This 


ON    INDEPENDENCE.  307 

was  the  difcipline  of  the  moft   celebrated 
among  the  ancient  phiioibphers,  of  which 
your  reading  will  lugged  to     you    many 
remarkable  examples.       Some  were,    no 
doubt,   actuated  by  vanity  in  this  matter, 
and  made  an  odentatious  difplay  of  their 
fuperiority  to  common  wants  and  delires ; 
yet  it  cannot  be  denied,  that  the  higheft 
characters  of  antiquity,  men  who  not  only 
harrangued  in  the  fchools,  but  acted  upon 
the  great  theatre  of  the  world,   were  much 
indebted  to  habits  of  abdinence  and  fru- 
gality for  their  greatnefs.     Many   of  the 
mod  illudrious   Greeks,  and  all  the  Ro- 
mans of  the  fird  ages,  were  rendered  fu- 
perior  to  the  allurements  of  profperity  and 
the  threats  of  adverfity,  by  the  podedion  of 
an  independence  of  mind  founded  on  the 
abdemious  virtues. 

The  afcetics  of  the  Chridian  church 
have  perhaps  carried  this  plan  farther  than 
any  of  the  heathen  philofophers ;  and 
though  the  general  principle  of  thefe  mor- 
tifications has  been  abject  fuperdition,  yet 
they  have  enabled  fome  of  the  more  active 
among  the  monadic  orders  to  overcome 
difficulties,  in  the  way  of  their  religious 
zeal,  which  the  mod  ardent  courage,    not 


3oS  letter     xxvnr. 

inured  to  fuch..  difcipline,  muft  have  funk 
under.  Individuals  in  thefe  focieties,  con- 
fiding in  their  ability  of  fuftaining  all  the 
hardlhips  that  men  any  where  fuitain,  and 
of  fubfifting  upon  as  little  as  they  any  where 
fubfift  upon,  have  penetrated  in  their  mif- 
fions  into  regions  inaccefnble  to  other  na- 
tives of  a  civilized  country,  and  have  {truck 
even  favages  with  admiration  of  their  pa- 
tience and  temperance.  Even  in  the  midfl 
of  power  and  fplendour,  fome  of  them, 
like  Ximenes,  have  practifed  all  the  auf- 
tere  regimen  of  the  cloifter ;  and  thence 
have  been  capable  of  defying  every  thing 
that  a  change  of  fortune  could  inflict  upon 
them.  How  many  at  this  day  are  proba- 
bly receiving  the  benefit  of  habits  of  en- 
joying life  upon  a  little  !  It  is  unpleafant 
to  reflect,  that  a  clafs  of  men  who  have 
been  able  to  free  themfelves  to  fuch  a 
degree  from  fubjection  to  corporeal  de- 
mands, mould  yet  fubmit  without  refin- 
ance to  the  moft  imperious  defpotifm  ex- 
ercifed  over  their  minds. 

But  it  would  be  abfurd  to  propofe  to 
one  who  is  defiined  to  live  in  cultivated 
fociety,  and  to  form  a  part  of  it,  an  inde- 
pendence founded  on  renunciation  of  the 


ON    INDEPENDENCE.  309 


common  comforts  and   pleafures  of  life. 
Mad   you  ftrength    of  mind  to   attain  to 
this,  I  certainly  mould  not  wilh  it  for  you, 
unlefs    it  were  neceffary  to  enable  you  to 
accomplifh   fome  point  of  high  utility  to 
mankind— -which,    in  your  cafe,   is  a  very 
improbable  fuppofition.     But   what  I   do 
wifh,  is,  that  you  may  as  much   as  pomble 
become   the   mailer  of   your  own  happi- 
nefs — that  you   may   ever  value  that  true 
dignity  of   character  which   confiits  in  the 
free  aflfertion  of  principle,  beyond  all  the 
petty  objects  of  gratification  to  which   it  is 
fo  commonly  facrificed — and  that  you  be 
content  with  fuch  a  {hare  of  the  goods  of 
fortune,   as  your   induftry  and  ufefulnefs 
may  fairly  purchafe.     I  do  not  defire  for 
you    that    proud    independence   of  fpirit 
which  is  difpofed  to  rejecl  as  an  infult  the 
kind  offices  of  honourable  friendfhip.  You 
will,   I  truft,    poflefs  qualifications  which 
may  entitle  you  to  thefe,  without  incurring 
a  debt  of  gratitude  beyond  the  power  of 
equally  honourable  fervices  to  repay.    And 
it  has  ever  been  my  fentiment,  that  one 
who  is  ready  to  confer  benefits  on  his  in- 
feriors in  condition,  needs  not,  nay  has  no 


;$iO  LETTER       XXVTlI. 

right,  to  fcruple  accepting  them  from  his 
fuperiors.  Every  generous  mind  feels 
that  no  pleafure  equals  that  of  conferring 
favours  on  the  deferving  :  this  pleafure, 
therefore,  as  it  is  eagerly  coveted,  mould 
be  cheerfully  imparted.  With  refpect  to 
your  profeffional  labours,  there  is  little 
doubt  that  they  will  be  worthy  of  their  re- 
ward. Whatever  additional  advantages 
your  fituation  may  afford  you,  it  will,  I 
hope,  be  in  your  power  to  compenfate 
for  them  by  additional  exertions  to  bellow 
pleafure  and  profit  on  thofe  with  whom 
you  are  connected.  Many  animating  ex- 
amples will  prefen-t  themfelves  to  you,  of 
perfons  in  your  itation,  beloved,  refpe<5ted, 
and  ferved,  who  have  yet  never  in  their 
lives  derogated  from  a  manly  indepen- 
dence of  character.  But  all  thefe  have 
been  perfons  of  moderate  dehres,  as  well 
as  of  active  induflry.  .-And  from  every 
thing  I  have  feen  of  the  world,  I  am  con- 
vinced, that  more  is  to  be  done  towards 
obtaining  happinefs  in  general,  and  its  pre- 
cious ingredient,  freedom  of  aclion,  in 
particular,  by  contracling  the  bounds  of 
cHir  wifhes,  than  by  the  utmoft  exteniion 
of  our  powers  in  filling  a  plan  of  unlimited 


ON    INDEPENDENCE.  3! I 

enjoyment.  This,  I  believe  is  not  Fa- 
shionable doclrine ;  but  it  is  that  which 
the  experience  of  my  own  heart  fuggeits. 
It  would  too,  I  am  fure,  have  been  Sup- 
ported by  the  fuffrage  of  your  grand- 
father*, whofe  memory  I  know  you  fo 
juftly  revere.  Though  by  no  means  what 
is  called  a  high-fpirited  man,  he  preferved 
during  life  an  honourable  independence, 
by  the  fimple  method  of  making  nothing 
effential  to  his  happinefs  which  did  not 
come  within  the  reach  of  his  ufeful  and 
low-priced  fervices.  I  wifli  you  better 
health,  ftronger  fpirits,  and  perhaps  more 
encouragement  from  the  world,  than  he 
had  ; — more  knowledge,  fuperior  talents, 
higher  worth,  and  a  more  truly  philofo- 
phic  temper,  I  need  not  wifh  you,  though 
paternal  arTeclion  is  little  inclined  to  be  a 
niggard  in  its  willies. 

Adieu ! 
*The  late  Rev.  Dr.  Aikin,  of  Warrington, 


o 


(      3**     ) 


LETTER     XXIX. 


ON    THE    CHOICE    OF    A    WIFE, 


DEAR  SON, 

There  is  no  fpecies  of  advice  which 
feems  to  come  with  more  peculiar  pro- 
priety from  parents  to  children,  than  that 
which  refpects  the  marriage  flate ;  for  it 
is  a  matter  in  which  the  firft  muft  have 
acquired  fome  experience,  and  the  lad 
cannot*  At  the  fame  time,  it  is  found  to 
be  that  in  which  advice  produces  the  leafl 
effecl.  For  this,  various  caufes  may  be 
affigned  ;  of  which,  no  doubt,  the  princi- 
pal is,  that  paffion  commonly  takes  this 
affair  under  its  management,  and  excludes 
reafon  from  her  {hare  of  the  deliberation . 
I  am  inclined  to  think,  however,  that  the 
neglecl  with  which  admonitions  on  this 
head  are  treated,  is  not  unfrequently  ow- 
ing to  the  manner  in  \vhichthey  are  given, 


CHOICE    OF    A    WIFE.  3I3 

which  is  often  too  general,  too  formal,  and 
with  too  little  accommodation  to  the  feel- 
ings of  young  perfons.  If,  in  defcanting 
a  little  upon  this  fubjecl,  I  can  avoid  thefe 
errors,  I  flatter  myfelf  you  are  capable  of 
bellowing  fome  unforced  attention  to  what 
an  affectionate  defire  of  promoting  your 
happinefs,  in  fo  effential  a  point  may 
prompt. 

The  difference  of  opinion  between  ions 
and  fathers  in  the  matrimonial  choice  may 
be  dated  in  a  (ingle  polltion — that  the  for- 
mer have  in  their  minds  the  firfl  month  of 
marriage,  the  latter,  the  whole  of  its  du- 
ration. Perhaps  you  will,  and  with  juf- 
tice,  deny  that  this  is  the  difference  be- 
tween us  two,  and  will  affert  that  vou,  as 
well  as  I,  in  thinking  of  this  connexion, 
reflect  on  its  lading  confequences.  So 
much  the  better  !  We  are  then  agreed  as 
to  the  mode  in  which  it  is  to  be  conii- 
dered,  and  I  have  the  advantage  of  you 
only  in  experience  and  more  extenlive 
obfervation. 

I  need  fay  little  as  to  the  fhare  that  per- 
fonal  charms  ought  to  have  in  fixing  a 
choice  of  this  kind.  While  I  readily  ad- 
mit, that  it  is  definable,  that  the  object  on 


3"!  4  LETTER       XXIX. 

which  the  eyes  are  mod  frequently  to  dwell 
for  a  whole  life,  mould  be  an  agreeable 
one ;  you  will  probably  as  freely  acknow- 
ledge, that  more  than  this  is  of  too  fanci- 
ful and  fugitive  a  nature  to  come  into  the 
computation  of  permanent  enjoyment. 
Perhaps  in  this  matter  I  might  look  more 
narrowly  for  you,  than  you  would  for 
yourfelf,  and  require  a  fuitablenefs  of  years 
and  vigour  of  CGnftitution,  which  might 
continue  this  advantage  to  a  period  that 
you  do  not  yet  contemplate.  But  drop- 
ping this  part  of  the  fubjecl,  let  us  proceed 
to  confider  the  two  main  points  on  which 
the  happinefs  to  be  expected  from  a  female 
aflbciate  in  life  mull  depend— -her  qualifi- 
cations as  a  companion,  and  as  a  helper. 

Were  you  engaged  to  make  a  voyage 
round  the  world  on  the  condition  of  fhar- 
ing  a  cabin  with  an  unknown  meffmate, 
how  folicitous  would  you  be  to  difcover 
his  character  and  difpofition  before  you 
fet  fail !  If,  on  enquiry,  he  mould  prove 
to  be  a  perfon  of  good  fenfe  and  culti- 
vated manners,  and  efpecially  of  a  temper 
'  inclined  to  pleafe  and  be  pleafed,  how  for,- 
{.unate  would  you  think  yourfelf!  But  if, 
;.-,  addition  to  this,   his  taftes,  ftudies,  and 


CHOICE    OF    A    WIFE.  ^5 

Opinions,  fhould  be  found  conformable  to 
yours,  your  fatisfaction  would  be  com- 
plete. You  could  not  doubt  that  the  cir- 
cumftance  which  brought  you  together, 
would  lay  the  foundation  of  an  intimate 
and  delightful  friendfhip.  On  the  other 
hand,  if  he  were  reprefented,  by  thofe  who 
thoroughly  knew  him,  as  weak,  ignorant, 
obflinate  and  quarrelfome,  of  manners  and 
difpohtions  totally  oppofite  to  your  own, 
you  would  probably  rather  give  up  your 
projed,  than  fubmit  to  live  fo  many  months 
confined  with  fuch  an  afToeiate. 

Apply  this  comparifon  to  the   domcflic 
companion  of  the  voyage  of  life — the  in- 
timate of  all  hours — the   partaker    of    all 
fortunes — the  fharer  m  pain  and  pleafure 
—the  mother  and  inilructrefs  of  your  oflf- 
fpring.     Are  you  not  (truck  with  a   fenfc 
of  the  infinite  confequence   it  muft  be  of 
to  you,  what  are  the  qualities  of  the  heart 
and  underilanding   of  one  who    (lands  in 
this  relation  ;  and  of  the  comparative  in- 
fismificance  of  external  charms  and  onto- 
mental    accomplishments!     But    as    it    is 
fearcely  probable  that    all  you  would  wHh 
in  thefe  particulars  can  be  obtained,    it   is 
of  importance  to  afcextain  which  qualities 


3*6  LETTER       XXIX, 

are  the  moft  efTential,  that  you  may  make 
the  belt  compromife  in  your  power.  Now, 
taftes,  manners  and  opinions,  being  things 
not  original,  but  acquired,  cannot  be  of 
fo  much  confequence  as  the  fundamental 
properties  of  good  fenfe  and  good  temper, 
PorTefled  of  thefe,  a  wife  who  loves  her 
hufband  will  fafhion  herfelf  in  the  others 
according  to  what  {he  perceives  to  be  his 
inclination ;  and  if,  after  all,  a  confider- 
able  diverfity  remain  between  them  in 
fuch  points,  this  is  not  incompatible  with 
domeftic  comfort.  But  fenfe  and  temper 
can  never  be  difpenfed  with  in  the  com- 
panion for  life:  they  form  the  bans  on 
which  the  whole  edifice  of  happinefs  is  to 
be  raifed.  As  both  are  abfolutely  efTen- 
tial, it  is  needlefs  to  enquire  which  is  fo  in 
the  higheft  degree.  Fortunately*  they  are 
toftener  met  with  together  than  feparate  ; 
for  the  juft  and  reafonable  eftimation  of 
things  which  true  good  fenfe  infpires,  al- 
moft  neceffarily  produces  that  equanimity 
and  moderation  of  fpirit  in  which  good- 
temper  properly  confifts.  There  is,  in- 
deed, a  kind  of  thoughtlefs  good  nature 
which  is  not  unfrequently  coupled  with 
weaknefs  of  underftanding ;  but   having 


CHOICE    OF    A    WIFE.  3I7 

ho  power  of  &lf-cHreclion,    its'  operations 
are   capricious,    and    no  reliance    can    be 
placed  on   it   in  promoting  folid  felicity. 
"When,  however,  this  e'afy  humour  appears 
with  the  attractions  of  youth  and   beauty; 
there  is  fome  danger  left  even  men  of  fenfe 
(hould  overlook  the  defects  of  a   mallow 
capacity,  efpecially  if  they  have  entertained 
the  too  common  notion,   that  women  are 
no  better  than  playthings,   defigned  rather 
for  the  arriufement  of  their  lords  and  maf- 
ters,  than  for  the  more  ferious  purpofes  of 
life.     But   no   man    ever   married  a  fool 
without  feverely  repenting  it ;  for  though 
the  pretty  trifler    may  have   ferved  well 
enough  for  the  hour  of  dalliance  and  gaiety, 
yet  when  folly  affumes  the  reins  of  domef- 
tic,  and  efpecially  of  parental,  controul,  (he 
will  give  a  perpetiial  heart-ache  to  a  confi- 
derate  partner. 

On  the  other  hand,  there  are  to  be  met 
with  inftances  of  confiderable  powers  of 
the  understanding,  combined  with  way- 
wardnefs  of  temper,  fufficient  to  deftroy  all 
the  comfort  of  life.  Malignity  is  fome- 
times  joined  with  wit,  haughtinefs  and  ca-* 
price  with  talents,  fournefs  and  fufpicion 
Rr 


gl  8  LETTER       XXIX. 

with  fagacity,  and  cold  referve  with  judg- 
ment. But  all  thefe  being  in  themfelves 
unamiable  qualities,  is  it  lefs  neceffary 
to  guard  agairift  the  pofTeiTors  of  them. 
They  generally  render  even  beauty  unat- 
tractive ;  and  no  charm  but  that  of  for- 
tune is  able  to  overcome  the  repugnance 
they  excite.  How  much  more  fatal  than 
even  folly  they  are  to  all  domeftic  felicity, 
you  have  probably  already  feen  enough  of 
the  matrimonial  Hate  to  judge. 

Many  of  the  qualities  which  fit  a  wo- 
man for  a  companion,  alfo   adapt  her  for 
the  office  of  a  helper ;   but  many  additional 
ones  are  requifite.     The  original  purpofe 
for  which  this  fex  was  created,  is  faid,  you 
know,  to  have  been,  providing  man  with 
a  help-mate  ;  yet  it  is  perhaps,   that  notion 
of  a  wife  which  leait  occupies  the  imagi- 
nation in  the  feafon  of  courtfhip.     Be  af- 
fured,  however,   that  as  an  office  for  life, 
fos  importance  Hands   extremely   high  to 
one  whofe   fituation   does  not  place  him 
above  the  want  of  fuch  aid ;   and  fitnefs 
for  it  (liould  make  a  leading  confideration 
hi  his  choice.     Romantic   ideas  of  domef- 
tic felicity  will  infallibly  in  time  give  way 
to  that  true  flate  of  things,  which  will  mew 


CHOICE    OF    A    WIFE.  3!^ 

that  a  large  part  of  it  mud  arife  from  well 
ordered  affairs,  and  an  accumulation  of 
petty  comforts  and  conveniences.  A  clean 
and  quiet  fire  fide,  regular  and  agreeable 
meals,  decent  apparel,  a  houfe  managed 
with  order  and  economy,  readv  for  the 
reception  of  a  friend  or  the  accommoda- 
tion of  a  flranger,  a  fkilful  as  well  as  af- 
fectionate nurfe  in  time  of  iicknefs — all 
thefe  things  compofe  a  very  confiderable 
part  of  what  the  nuptial  flate  was  intended 
to  afford  us ;  and  without  them,  no  charms 
of  perfon  or  underitanding  will  long  con- 
tinue to  bellow  delight.  The  arts  of 
houfewifery  mould  be  regarded  i&profcf- 
fional  to  the  woman  who  intends  to  ber 
come  a  wife  ;  and  to  felert  one  for  that 
flation  who  is  deftitute  of  them,  or  difm- 
clined  to  exercife  them,  however  other- 
wife  accomplifhed,  is  as  abfurd,  as  it  would 
be  to  choofe  for  your  lawyer  or  phyfician 
a  man  who  excelled  in  every  thing  rather 
than  in  law  or  phyfic. 

Let   me  remark,    too,    that  knowledge 
and  good-will  are  not  the  only  requifites  for 
the  office  of  a  helper.     It  demands  a  cer- 
tain energy  both  of  body  and  mind  whiclj 
&?3 


3^0  BETTER       XXIX- 

:s  lefs  frequently  met  with  among  the  fe- 
males of  the  prefent  age  than  might  be 
wifhed.  How  much  foever  infirm  and 
delicate  health  may  intereft  the  feelings,  it 
is  certainly  an  undefirable.  attendant  on  q 
connexion  for  life.  Nothing  can  be  more 
contrary  to  the  qualification  of  a  help-mate, 
than  a  condition  which  conftantly  requires 
that  afiiftance  which  it  never  can  impart 
It  is,  I  am  fure,  the  fartheft  thing  frorn 
my  intention  to  harden  your  heart  againft 
imprefnoris  of  pity,  or  flacken  thofe  fer- 
yices  of  afTediona.te  kindnefs  by  which 
you  may  foften  the  calamitous  lot  of  the 
moir  amiable  and  deferving  of  the  fpecies. 
But  a  matrimonial  choice  is  a  qhoice  for 
your  own  benefit,  by  which  you  are  to 
obtain  additional  fources  of  happinefs;  and 
it  would  be  mere  folly  in  their  ftead  volun- 
tarily to  take  upon  you  new  incumbrances 
and  diftreues.  Akin  to  an  unnerved  frame 
of  body,  is  that  fhrinking  timidity  of  mind, 
and  exceflive  nicety  of  feeling,  which  is 
too  much  encouraged  under  the  notion  of 
female  delicacy.  That  this  is  carried  be- 
yond all  reafonable  bounds-  in  modern 
education,  can  fcarcely  be  doubted  by  one 
who  confiders  what  exertions   of  fortitude 


CHOICE    OF    A    WIFE.  3^1 

and  felf-command  are  continually  required 
in  the  courfe  of  female  duty.  One  who 
views  fociety  clofely,  in  its  interior  as  well 
as  its  exterior,  will  know  that  occafions  of 
alarm,  furlering  and  difguft  come  much 
more  frequently  in  the  way  of  women  than 
of  men.  To  them  belong  all  offices  about 
the  weak,  the  fick,  and  the  dying.  When 
the  houfe  becomes  a  fcene  of  wretchednefs 
from  any  caufe,  the  man  often  runs  abroad, 
fhe  woman  muft  flay  at  home  and  face 
the  word.  All  this  takes  place  in  culti- 
vated fociety,  and  in  claries  of  life  raifed 
above  the  common  level.  In  a  lavage 
flate,  and  in  the  lower  conditions,  women 
are  compelled  to  undergo  even  the  mod 
laborious,  as  well  as  the  moft  difagreeable 
talks.  If  nature,  then,  has  made  them  fo 
weak  in  temper  and  conflitution  as  many 
fuppofe,  fhe  has  not  fuited  means  to  ends 
with  the  forefight  we  generally  difcover  in 
her  plans. 

I  confefs  myfelf  decidedly  of  the  opi- 
nion of  thofe  who  would  rather  form  the 
two  fexes  to  a  refemblance  of  character, 
than  contrail  them.  Virtue,  wifdom, 
prefence  of  mind,  patience,  vigour,  ca- 
pacity,   application,  are  not  fexiial  quali- 


3*22  LSTTIR       XXIX. 

ties  :  they  belong  to  mankind — to  all  who 
have  duties  to  perform  and  evils  to  endure. 
It  is  furely  a  moil  degrading  idea  of  the 
female  fex,  that  they  muft  owe  their  influ- 
ence to  trick  and  fmefie,  to  counterfeit  or 
real  weaknefs.  They  are  too  effential  to 
our  happinefs  to  need  fuch  arts;  too  much 
of  the  pleafure  and  of  the  bufmefs  of  the 
world  depends  upon  them,  to  give  reafon 
for  apprehenfion  that  we  (hall  ceafe  to  join 
partnerfhip  with  them.  Let  them  aim  at 
excelling  in  the  qualities  peculiarly  adapu 
ed  to  the  parts  they  have  to  ad,  and  they 
may  be  excufed  from  affecled  languor  and 
coquetry.  We  (hall  not  think  them  lefs 
amiable  for  being  our  belt  helpers. 

Having  thus  endeavoured  to  give  you 
juft  ideas  of  the  principal  requifites  in  a 
wife,  efpecially  in  a  wife  for  One  in  your 
condition,  I  have  done  all  that  lies  within 
the  compafs  of  an  advifer.  From  the  in- 
fluence of  pafiion  I  cannot  guard  you :  I 
can  only  deprecate  jts  power.  It  may  be 
more  to  the  purpofe  to  difiuade  you  from 
pofty  engagements,  becauie  in  making  them, 
a  perfon  of  any  refolution  is  not  to  be  re- 
garded as  merely  paflive.  Though  the 
head  has  loft  its  rule  over  the  heart,  it  may 


CHOICE    df    A    WIFE*'  ^i 

retain  its  command  of  the  hand.  And 
fur  el  y  if  we  are  to  paufe  before  any  action, 
it  fhould  be  before  one  on  which  "  all  the 
colour  of  remaining  life"  depends.  Your 
reafon  mull  be  convinced,  that  to  form  a 
folid  judgment  of  fo  many  qualities  as  are 
requiiite  in  the  conjugal  union,  is  no  affair 
of  days  and  weeks,  of  cafual  vifits  or  pub- 
lic exhibitions.  Study  your  object  at 
home — fee  her  tried  in  her  proper  depart- 
ment. Let  the  progrefs  be,  liking,  ap- 
proving, loving,  and  laftly,  declaring ; 
and  may  you,  after  the  experience  of  as 
many  years  as  I  have  had,  be  as  happily- 
convinced,  that  a  choice  fo  formed  is  not 
likely  to  deceive ! 

You  may  think  it  iirange,  that  I  have 
not  touched  upon  a  confideration  which 
generally  takes  the  lead  in  parental  efti- 
mates  of  matrimonial  views — that  of  for- 
tune. But  I  have  been  treating  on  the 
woman  only,  not  on  any  thing  extraneous 
to  her.  Fortune  acquired  with  a  wife,  is 
the  fame  thing  as  fortune  got  any  other 
way.  It  has  its  value,  and  certainly  no 
fmall  one  in  procuring  the  defirable  com- 
forts of  life ;  and  to  rufh  into  a  Hate  in 
which  wants   will    be    greatly   increafed 


324  t£f  TER       XXIX. 

without  a  reafonable  profpect  of*  beirt^ 
able  to  fupply  thofe  wants,  k  an  ad,  not 
merely  of  careleffnefs,  but  of  downright  fol- 
ly. But  with  refpect  to  the  fources  whence^ 
their  fupply  is  to  be  fought,  that  is  a  par- 
ticular enquiry  to  each  individual ;  and  I 
do  not  think  fo  ill  of  your  prudence  as  to 
apprehend  that  you  will  not  give  it  all  the 
attention  its  importance  demands.  Ano- 
ther confideration,  that  of  the  family  con- 
nexions formed  by  marriage  is  of  a  fimilar 
kind*  Its  great  importance  cannot  be 
doubted ;  but  it  is  an  affair  to  be  deter- 
mined on  by  the  dictates  of  common  pru- 
dence, juft  as  in  forming  thofe  connexions 
after  any  other  mode  %  though,  indeed,  in 
no  Other  can  they  be  formed  equally 
flrong.  One  who  is  matter  of  his  delibe- 
rations, may  be  trulted  to  decide  thefe 
points,  as  well  as  any  others  that  occur  in 
the  practice  of  life.  That  your  decifions 
may  always  {hew  you  to  be  poflefTed  of  a 
due  power  of  felf-direction,  is  the  earneft 
wifh  of 

Your  truly  affectionate,  kc* 


(     2*5     ) 


LETTER    XXX. 


VALEDICTORV. 


And  now,  my  dear  Son,  I -feel  it  time 
taclofe  this  feries  of  letters;  not  that  fub- 
je&s  are  exhauited,  but  that  other  things 
demand  my  attention.  You  will  perceive 
that  their  topics,  fo  far  as  they  relate  to 
morals  and  the  condudt  of  life,  have  been 
of  a  kind,  fupplementary  to  thofe  inftruc- 
tions  which  you  have  received  in  a  fyfle- 
matic  way  from  books  and  le&ures.  Of 
fuch  inltru&ions  it  was  the  chief  purpofe 
to  eftablifh  principles — a  point  of  moft  ef- 
fential  confequence,  which  I  hope  and  be- 
lieve has  been  fufficiently  fecured  in  your 
education.  My  view  in  writing  was  ra- 
ther to  place  in  a  ftrong  and  familiar 
light  fome  fubordinate  truths  belonging  to 
Ss 


3^6  LETTER       XXX. 

the  experimental  pra&ice  of  life,  which, 
though  not  of  the  fundamental  impor- 
tance of  the  former,  yet  are  of  no  fmall 
weight  in  promoting  a  man's  happinefs 
and  utility.  With  refpect  to  the  letters 
relative  to  points  of  tafte  and  literature,  it 
:n  their  chief  aim  to  obviate  pre- 
judices, and  to  give  that  turn  to  your 
thoughts  which  might  enable  you  to  judge 
and  to  enjoy  for  yourfelf,  without  firft  ap- 
pealing to  the  deciiion  of  a  dictator.  For 
freedom  of  thinking  is  the  fame  thing  in 
matters  of  greater  and  of  fmaller  moment ; 
and  though  I  hold  it  of  little  confequence 
hoiD  a  perfon  is  pleafed,  provided  he  be 
innocently  fo,  yet  I  would  not  wifli  him, 
even  in  his  "pleamres,  implicitly  to  follow 
the  decrees  of  cuftom  and  authority,  left 
it  mould  induce  a  habit  of  the  fame  paflive 
compliance  in  affairs  of  capital  importance. 
But  I  need  fay  no  more  concerning  the 
drift  of  letters  which,  I  mould  hope,  fuf- 
iiciently  explain  themfelves,  and  do  not  ill 
correfpond  to*my  favourite  motto,  of  u  free 
iments  in  fimple  language." 
It  has  happened,  that  the  termination 
tiftolary  commerce,    is  alfo  the 


.0  VALEDICTORY.  327 

period  of  your  finally  quitting  the  paternal 
roof,  and  launching  out  into  profellional 
life.  What  an  interefting  period  to  us 
both!  How  extenfive  a  field  of  aclion 
now  opens  to  your  view  !  What  duties  to 
be  performed — what  leffons  to  be  learn- 
ed— what  new  connexions  to  be  formed, 
and  new  fcenes  to  be  engaged  in  !  How 
much  attention  will  be  requifite  in  order 
to  avoid  being  in  fome  meafure  bewildered 
in  the  variety  of  objecls  that  will  prefent 
themfelves  to  you  ;  and  how  much  will  it 
behove  you  to  fix  your  eyes  iteadfailly  on 
the  two  cardinal  points  of  duty  and  im- 
provement !  You  will  meet  with  (doubt  it 
not!)  firens  of  various  kinds  to  tempt  you 
out  of  your  courfe.  Be  on  your  guard 
againft  them  all,  and  principally  againft 
the  "  improba  firen  defidla — for  that  is 
the  charmer  whole  voice  has  ever  proved 
moll  enfnaring  to  thole  of  your  profefTion. 
Many  and  many  admonitions  and  counfels 
mould  I  add,  were  my  pen  to  utter  all 
my  heart  conceives  on  this  bccafion — but 
to  prepare  you  for  it  is  not,  I  fruit,  a  bull  - 


&fr 


